The Inquisition
by Millie Bates
Summary: It is the Spanish Inquisition. No person of the Islamic or Jewish faith is safe in Barcelona. Not even the Vargas family. Especially the young Lovino Vargas. He can feel his world changing, sometimes for the worse, and sometimes for the better. He hopes that with the arrival of a new costumer at the Bakery, a spaniard named Antonio, things will change for the better. AU
1. Chapter 1

The sweet aroma of bread wafted from the windows of the small house and swarmed around the nose of the thin brunette as he walked up to the chipped green door. He pushed it open and sat a basket of vegetables on the white wooden table in front of the door, then shook the faded red cloak off of his thinly framed shoulders.

"Lovino! Is that you? It is about time, wouldn't you say? Dio mio, the moon is already so far up. Did you lock the door?" Grandpa Roma, who was shuffling about in his once white apron, pulled the heavy lock down on the flimsy door. Lovino gritted his straight, off-white teeth. "As if that does any good," he muttered under his breath shakily. "And you know what they look out for, and yet I'm still sent out to pick the vegetables up. You know what could have happened?"

"'Lovi!"

Wonderful. Feliciano came out of seemingly nowhere and sat down at the table. He grinned his soft, typical grin, then picked up a shining red tomato from Lovino's basket. "How was the market? I wish I could have gone but Grandpa Roma won't let me yet, he says its still dangerous, but it doesn't look all that dangerous to me. Do you think its dangerous, fratello? I really don't think so. I've seen everyone getting read for passo-"

"Shut up! Shut up, Feliciano," Lovino said with wide eyes as he instinctively closed their shutters and the patched-up curtains, but not before peeking out to make sure nobody had heard his idiot of a brother. "Keep your mouth shut, idiota."

"But I don't understand. Why don't we just leave?"

Grandpa Roma sighed as he watched the flames of the fire jump at the stones surrounding it, crackling and popping, almost ferociously it seemed. "We don't have money to leave. I barely have money to keep us alive."

Lovino heard his brother gulp. "But-"

"I think it is time for you to go to your room, Feli."

The auburn-haired boy nodded obediently, stood, and went to his and Lovino's bedroom, but not before wrapping his arms around his grandfather, who smiled his strong, confident smile before curling his arms around his grandson. "Goodnight, Feli. Stay quiet, please." Lovino watched his grandfather with his mouth twisted into a disgusted sneer.

"He makes a mistake and he gets comfort. I make a mistake and-"

"You," Grandpa Roma interupted, "You make a mistake and you're put on trial, tortured, and killed. No one will suspect Feli. But you, Lovi. You're different. You're what they're looking for. That is why I'm so strict with you and why it is so important that you aren't careless like your brother is. I couldn't stand to lose you, just like I couldn't stand to lose Feli."

Lovino looked down at the small tomatoes with a scowl. "It isn't even mine."

Grandpa Roma's nostrils flared at his grandsons comment. "What?"

"I'm not even Jewish. I don't believe in any of that."

The older man stood up while clutching to something deep in his pocket. Lovino knew it was a little golden star, one that the man had worn on his neck from childhood to now. Well, not now. He wasn't allowed to wear it now. But if you tilted your head, squinted, and perhaps framed the mans neck with your fingers you could still see the ghost of the golden chain and the shimmering star. And if you couldn't see it there, there was no doubt that you would be able to see that shine in his bright, young eyes. None of this suited Lovino. This wasn't his religion. This wasn't who he was. "They'll kill you, regardless. They won't believe you. You know they wouldn't, Lovi. You might as well be Jewish."

The brunette felt tears brimming in his squinted, amber eyes. His grandfather was right, as he always was. And no amount of wishing that this wasn't the case would make it true. He would never be able to live the life he wanted here. He wished he was back in Italy, back to the beautiful village, back to the fields of soft yellow flowers with humming bees, back to the little child he was then, smiling and running through the crowds in search for his cousins and for Grandpa Roma. And for his madre. He didn't want to think about what she'd think about the situation they'd gotten themselves into. And she'd blame herself, no doubt. She would take the entire stress, fear, and despair of the world with strife. And with it she would still be smiling that bright smile with those bright brown eyes, as if the weight of it all wasn't breaking her back and causing her to slowly sink lower into the ground. The tears that were merely brimming were now spilling out onto Lovino's flushed cheeks. She wouldn't have wanted this for him. She wouldn't have wanted to see him cry or see him stuck in such an awful place with such an awful terror constantly looming. He bit down on his lip while his Grandpa silently handed him a chunk of warm bread.

He hadn't eaten for pleasure for the past year. Every time something passed his lips, it was for his own survival. It wasn't as if they didn't have food. They did. And half of it was good food that he always enjoyed eating. But he couldn't bring himself to stomach it so much anymore. And it bothered him, too, that Grandpa Roma and Feliciano decided to spend money on good food instead of fixing up their home. Lovino bit into the bread, his lips twitching as they closed around the crisp edges. "Thank you," he whispered into his food. He was happy that Grandpa Roma hadn't decided to lecture him on religion like he did the last time that Lovino mentioned his lack of religion. He forced an appreciative smile, which his grandfather returned weakly. The older man pulled the boy into his arms, patting his back, trying so hard to comfort him. And it worked very slightly, but not as much as Lovino was hoping it would.

He wasn't crying anymore. And that was good. But the pain in his chest still throbbed uncontrollably, causing small shakes to travel down his spine and rack throughout his entire body. He breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth, the way Grandpa Roma had told him to when this happened the last time.

"I think you should be going to bed too, Lovi. Get more sleep than you did last night, please. For me, so that I can rest knowing that at least you won't be so tired anymore." Lovino gulped, nodded, and turned towards the stairs.

"And Lovino," Grandpa Roma said, still in that soft voice, but with a hint of professionalism. "I have a costumer coming to pick up a few loafs of bread early. I'd really appreciate it if you-"

"I will. Goodnight."

.

The morning was so much duller than it had been the previous days. The spaniard looked off of his small balcony down at the few people out on the streets at this hour. He was already dressed. His hair had been pulled back. He wore a faint frown and an even fainter scowl that he didn't even believe himself. His lips tempted to curl into the smile that they were normally in. He looked down at the beautiful woman cleaning the front door of her shop. He couldn't help but to smile at her, or the other women who stepped out and peeked out of their windows. He could see their faces all at the windows, some happy, some sad, some angry, some neutral. All beautiful in their respective ways. His fingers curled tightly around the sword at his left side and tipped his hat down at the women who looked back at him. Many of them turned bright red and giggled to eachother, but the man didn't seem to notice.

He was to go to a bakery today. It was much more enjoyable than what he normally did and he was glad for the little break allowed to him. He walked quickly downstairs with the same stupid grin plastered to his face. His green eyes sparkled once they were hit by the little sunlight that shone through the clouds. He cleared his throat and resumed his scowl. Would it be better to go to this bakery with a smile? Or with a frown? A smile seemed easier and much more believable. Much more true. He gave up on the scowl officially and smiled to himself as he began to climb atop his honey coloured horse, but stopped for a second, thought briefly to himself, and decided it was smarter to walk to the bakery. He began the walk, keeping his eyes peeled and his chin up. He watched women and men pass by, keeping his eyes especially glued to the ones who wouldn't meet his gaze. He would just have to find something distinguishable about them so that he could recall them later.

That man has a very pointed beard and beady little eyes. That woman has very large breasts with a little mole near the collar bone. That man has a scar shaped like a crescent moon on his chin. That man has peppered hair and the longest eyelashes he'd ever seen. And that woman with the sweet looking face beside him had freckled cheeks, tanned skin, a thin waist, and wore a soft looking purple scarf. Her little pink lips were pouted and fresh, though there was nothing special about her.

He felt nothing for any of them, all he thought about them were observations only. He almost admired himself for not feeling anything for these women he passed. He was proud of the way that he could so carefully examine their perfectly rounded breasts, their wide hips and their softly flowing hair that framed their thin, tanned necks. His mind didn't stray from his work. He knew what they were, and he knew he could never love them. And they surely couldn't love him. He couldn't imagine a picture inside the frame, a soul inside the body, someone sitting behind the glossy, multi-coloured windows, their eyes. They were like the bulls killed for their meat and nothing more. And soon, they would be even more like those bulls than they could imagine.

As his hand pressed to the red door of the bakery, the spaniard was happy with the fact that there was an entire herd waiting for him behind the stacks of bread atop the visible wooden counter.

**To Be Continued . . . . **


	2. Chapter 2

The man grasped onto the hilt of the golden sword. It had light carvings in the handle. He bit down on his bottom lip, which by now was already a dark shade of pink from all the previous moments before where he had nervously sunken his teeth down into his own flesh without thinking. He shook his head, eyelids fluttering. He traced the carvings. _Antonio Carriedo. _His name. It almost seemed pretentious now. _Maldita, _he thought. Why was this happening? To him, of all people? He didn't deserve any of this. He didn't deserve to be so utterly confused, but this was such a confusing situation.

Antonio sat on his bed and looked out his door towards the staircase. He lived in a loft, quite large, actually, for a loft, above some sort of business that was no longer open. He grimaced at the wooden floor, then stood again, shaking his head and wringing his wrists. His ears popped as he swallowed for the first time in minutes. What had even happened? He replayed the situation in his head.

.

Antonio pushed on the red door to the bakery, finding it surprisingly easy to open. He admired the set up. The counter was well kept, the floor was clean, and there were three little tables with chairs where customers could sit if they felt like staying a little longer in the cozy shop, which would have been easy to do. It smelled amazing in the bakery. But that was to be expected, wasn't it? Antonio walked up to the counter with a smile, thinking that there was someone back in the room behind the counter. But he could see no one behind that counter or back in the room behind the counter, which was only visible through a frame. He could see another door through the frame. It was wooden and chipped away. His lips pulled down into a smirk at the sight of it. Someone had to be up. There was no way they weren't up at this hour.

"Buenos dias?" No response. Only the sound of the floorboards creaking beneath him. He cleared his throat and rubbed his cheek with his palm. "Hello? Senor~? Madama?" There was a light creaking above him. Antonio glanced up at the low ceiling. The movements of the person were very slow, so he figured they most have slept in. Or they were conducting some sort of secret business meeting. It could have gone either way. Antonio smiled regardless, ready to look as comforting and trusting as possible to the filth that was most likely going to come down the stairs. He heard someone moving down the stairs. They creaked noisily. Maybe the person was heavy. That had to be it.

"You're going to have to wait a moment."

Antonio raised his eyebrows. So it was a boy. A young one. Most likely an adolescent by the way his voice squeaked at one point. His grin deepened as he thought about the awkward boy. Most likely he was overweight. With all this food around, how could he not be? And, well, Jews weren't the most beautiful people. Right? Even if there _was _a beautiful Jew, Antonio had seen some beautiful creatures killed. Beasts, more so. Were they beautiful? Of course they were. But they were dangerous, and beauty wasn't an excuse. Danger is danger, and safety is everything. Survival is everything.

"Te. Cosa vuoi?" Lovino stared at the sword resting on Antonio's side, his lips parting, then closing almost immediately after. Antonio stared down at the boy like he'd never seen another human before. This wasn't what he was expecting, to say the least. Amber eyes searched his body, though they came back to the sword each time they searched him over. He should have left it, he supposed. He didn't mean for it to draw so much attention. "I think," he said with that same casual grin, "you're wondering about the sword. As you may know, this isn't the best part of Barcelona. I didn't want to be mugged or killed. Did you think I planned on using it on you?"

Antonio had always had an infectious smile, but this boy must have had the vaccine, because his lips stayed in a perfectly straight line. Actually, that wasn't true. They seemed to be curling down, even, into a frown. "You think I'm stupid, bastard?" Antonio froze and raised his eyebrows, completely forgetting to blink. He definitely hadn't expected that. He opened his mouth to say something, but the boy wasn't finished.

"I know why you're here and I know why you have that goddamn sword, bastard. You think a Jew lives here. Or Jews. But I can tell you that not a single one does. So get out of this fucking shop." Lovino was shaking. Maybe he didn't realize this, but Antonio did. He wasn't shaking for no reason. This boy was lying. Antonio wasn't as easy to fool as he seemed. He kept that same smile, regardless. He had to know if this was absolutely the case. Yes, he was sure, but not entirely, and he didn't want to risk the people getting angry again for another innocent person convicted and killed. He had to be absolutely positive this time. "I think you misunderstand me. I'm simply here to pick up five loafs of bread. Your grandfather is friends with one of my advisers. And I do errands for him quite often. I know there aren't any Jews in this building. And even if I was, for some reason, looking for Jews, you don't look like a Jew to me. Your nose is straight and your hair is tame besides that odd little curl."

Lovino glared at that stupid bastard. As if Jewish people really had a certain look to them. It took all he had not to correct the man. He looked down at the bread supply while still keeping an eye on him. "Antonio. Sounds like the name of a bastard to me." Antonio simply watched the boy, his smile faltering as he did so. "How did you know my name?"

Lovino stared coolly at the bastard, his nostrils flaring as he noticed they only had three more loafs of bread. "So you aren't just a bastard. You're an idiota, too." Antonio's fingers traced the name on his sword, suddenly realizing that the boy must have seen the name on the sword. "And what is your name?"

Lovino nearly dropped the cup of flour he was holding. He glared at the man. "As if that's really any of your goddamn business. Why do you want to know, anyway?" He grabbed a few clean bowls from the cupboard, sat them down on the clean wooden table behind the counter, and started a small fire in the oven after a few sad attempts. Antonio laughed at the attempts, his sun-kissed nose curling up with the corners of his mouth. "I just thought you'd like it if I called you something other than boy. Or 'you.'"

"Boy? My name is Lovino, bastard. If you must know. And I'm not a goddamn boy. I'm seventeen. I could get married and I have a child now if I wanted to, stupid." This caused Antonio to laugh once again. He was having a better time than he expected. "And we only have three loafs of bread. So I have to make another two. You can, oh, I don't know, leave while I'm making them, then come back around noon to pick them up." Oh, that wasn't happening. Antonio didn't remember the last time he laughed so genuinely. He took a seat in a wobbly chair by the window, keeping his bright green eyes on Lovino, who sneered and turned back to the ingredients for his bread. Lovino was very soft looking. More so than any woman Antonio had ever seen. He had delicate shoulders and an overall slender body. His little curl was so peculiar. The rest of his hair was straight. Maybe he did that on purpose? He could ask, but he didn't want to seem rude.

Wait, why should he care? If Lovino really was a Jew, it didn't matter. And even if he was rude to him, he wouldn't have to see him in a few days anyway. He'd be taken away with whoever else lived in the bakery and the house in the back and above. But even so, the way Lovino's honey-coloured eyes softened while mixing the ingredients together made him feel at ease. And confused. He cleared his throat uncomfortably, shifted in the chair, then finally took off the heavy sword, causing those eyes to flash over to his table. "So you really aren't going to kill me, bastard?"

Antonio chuckled. "No, Lovino. I'm not. I told you this already," he said. Lovino pushed a bowl of dough aside and covered it with a thin, off-white rag. He yawned, stretched out his arms, and took off his apron. He pulled out a basket that was dyed a funny shade of purple. His pale hand dug around in the basket, clearly searching for something specific. He pulled out some sort of glaze-covered pastry and a bright red tomato. _Oh, his breakfast. Of course._ Antonio snickered at the peculiar pastry and tomato breakfast, though he himself was quite fond of tomatoes. He watched as Lovino wiped off the tomato with a clean rag, then bit into it like an apple. His eyes flashed once again to Antonio. "What the fuck are you looking at me like that for?"

Antonio tilted his head. "Tomatoes are very good, aren't they? I consider them more of a comfort food." At this point, Lovino couldn't help but to look at the spaniard. He hadn't really looked at his face. He didn't actually see a reason to do so. He had the greenest eyes he'd ever seen in his entire life. He had dark hair, though not black, and tanned skin. Below his bottom lip was a little cut. It was near the corner, too. His hair was pulled back in a red and yellow ribbon, and was slightly curly but mostly on the ends. He looked stronger than most men, though it wasn't obvious what he did for a living. If Lovino had to guess an age, he would have guessed twenty-two. Maybe twenty-one. But no older than twenty-two. "Lovino? Are you alright? You look tired. Forgive me, please, for being the one who had to wake you up this morning," Antonio said.

Lovino snapped back into reality. "Whatever, bastard. I had to get up anyways." He finished the tomato, then went back to the bread. He sprinkled flour onto the counter, yawned, and scooped out the dough. Antonio raised an eyebrow. "May I help you, Lovino?" Lovino scoffed at him, then put his hands on his hips. "You couldn't do this, bastard," he said. Antonio stood up. "Why do you keep calling me that?" More scoffing. "Okay. I'll call you something different. Tomato bastard. Does that sound good? Since tomatoes are such a comfort to you, you should love it, tomato bastard."

Lovino sprinkled flour atop the bread and kneaded it with the bottom of his palms, then turned quickly to grab a rolling pin, but instead of an empty space to stand being there, there was a body. The bastards body. Lovino flinched and let out a little noise. "You bastard! What the hell do you think you're doing? You can't be back here. Go back to you damn chair!" Antonio handed the rolling pin to Lovino, which he took from the spaniard, though it was a hesitant gesture. "I'd just like to see how you do it. Continue just as you were. I'll keep my distance."

Lovino muttered to himself as he continued kneading the dough. He may have kneaded it too hard after finding out that bastard had been standing behind him. He grabbed a knife and cut the dough into two pieces, which caused Antonio to think up a question. A stupid one. "Why don't you just tear it?" Lovino stared up at the man with large eyes. "Are you kidding me? It isn't as precise. And it isn't easy to tear. It's gloppy. Are you blind, bastard? Is that it? Are your fucking eyes so bad that you can't see that this is harder to tear than cut? Maybe you should have your eyes checked. Or are you just that stupid?" Lovino expected the man to be offended. Who wouldn't have been? But he smiled that same stupid smile. In fact, he scooted closer to Lovino, his emerald eyes boring into Lovino's amber ones. Antonio watched the way Lovino's eyes lightened and the way his pale cheeks flushed pink. He felt warmer, somehow. And that confusion swarmed in his mind, his eyelashes fluttered, and the words he wanted to say lodged in his throat.

"If I'm blind, then I think I'd like to stay that way. Because what my imagination is showing me now is more beautiful than anything I could find with my eyes."

That is what he _wanted _to say. But he couldn't push the words out, as hard as he tried, and as much as he wanted to admit them. Lovino gulped as guilt began to consume him. "It is just easier to cut it, bastard." With that, he formed the bread into loafs, slid them onto a tray, then slid them into the oven. Antonio went back to his chair, which was much appreciated by Lovino, who picked up the pastry again and sat himself on the counter. Antonio watched his teeth sink into the flaky, glaze covered crust. A few crumbs got on the counter, but they were hastily wiped away. He had some of the icing stuck to the bottom of his lip, though, which was obviously going unnoticed. "Lovino, you, uh," he said while motioning to his own lips. Lovino gave him a glance, but looked confused. "What are you talking about, tomato bastard? Your cut?" Antonio motioned again, but Lovino just let out a frustrated groan. "What, bastard?"

Antonio laughed before finally deciding to go over to Lovino. He picked up one of the white rags, wrapped it around his fingers, and gently wiped the icing off of Lovino's bottom lip. To his surprise, Lovino didn't flinch or move out of the way. He just stared with the widest eyes Antonio had ever seen. His pupils seemed to be the size of a small coin. They weren't angry, but they weren't exactly happy, either. They seemed to be more confused than anything. His cheeks lit up a bright shade of red and he looked down, then at the door. "Lovino, what is wrong?" Lovino cleared his throat, but said nothing.

"Lovi!" Grandpa Roma was up. "Lovi, get off the counter. And have you helped this man? This," Grandpa Roma paused for a moment to examine Antonio's sword, "this fine young man?" Lovino sneered. "I know what I'm doing. His bread has a few more minutes to bake. We were out of full loafs. So I made more. He'll be on his way soon. Won't you, basta-," he cleared his throat again, "I mean, _Antonio_."

Antonio was no longer paying attention to Lovino. His eyes were locked on Roma, who was only a couple inches taller than the spaniard. "Pleased to meet you, Antonio. I'm Roma. Roma Vargas. This is Lovino, who you've apparently already met. You'd be able to meet Feliciano, but he is cleaning the house today. Sorry if he starts singing and you have to listen to it. Though he isn't so bad at it. He takes after me. Ah, well, I guess Lovi here has got this covered. I have to run to the market, figlio. I'll be back soon." With that, Roma left. Antonio watched him, eyes wide, observing everything. The way the man walked, talked, smiled, frowned, moved his eyes. Everything. Lovino glared. "You okay, bastard? Why the fuck are you watching Grandpa Roma like that?" Antonio shook his head, then smiled brightly again. "I just think you Italians are so fascinating, Lovi."

"Don't call me that, bastard," he said as he took the bread out of the oven. He placed them in bags along with the other loafs. "I'm glad you're finally leaving. Give me my money."

"Do you miss it? Italy, I mean. I've always wanted to see Italy. Rome sounds incredible," Antonio said. Lovino stopped what he was doing and smiled faintly. "Yes. I do miss it. It is my home. And Rome is incredible. I went there a few times. My father lived there, though I don't exactly remember him. And my madre liked to take excursions there with Feliciano and I. She took us to concerts and art museums. We had money, you know. We weren't poor like this. But I adjusted. As if I actually had a choice. And not only that, I had to adjust to being poor in a completely new land where they spoke a language I wasn't entirely sure of. And now this whole-" Lovino stopped himself and shook his head, then rested his palms on his cheeks, rubbing his eyes and trying to forget that he wasn't that child anymore.

Antonio looked away. "Lovi, this place isn't so bad. Really." Lovino looked dully at the money Antonio had laid down on the counter, sweeping it into his palm in one motion, then slipping it into a jar behind him. Suddenly, Antonio had an idea.

"Lovino! Let me take you out. I'll show you that it isn't so bad here. Saturday night. It will be wonderful, I promise." Lovino looked up and into Antonio's eager eyes. Antonio wasn't sure why he was doing this. Maybe it was because he hadn't gone out in so long. Especially not with another person. He had been so busy, so caught up in his work, but here was this boy who seemed so upset by the city he always loved. Maybe it was city pride. He wanted to show Lovino how amazing Barcelona could be. And maybe he wanted to take out Lovino, too, so that he could make him blush again. He grinned at the thought of making his cheeks burn red and his eyelashes flutter.

"Why would I do that, bastard? I barely know you," Lovino said. Antonio's heart sank. "But," Lovino said with a sigh, "I could try it once. But only to get out of work. Not because I want to be around you, stupid." His heart bounced right back. He grinned wider than he had in a while and placed his hand on Lovino's round shoulder, lightly brushing his creamy neck with his fingertips. It was his personal way of saying goodbye, and he was glad he decided on brushing his fingers against Lovino's neck, because as soon as he did, Lovino shivered. He would have loved to see it again, but he had to leave. And he didn't want to push his luck.

**To be Continued . . . . **


	3. Chapter 3

The flashback had ended. He looked up at the clock on the wall. The flashback seemed to have lasted hours, but only three minutes, maybe four, had passed. That was days ago, too. And now it was Saturday, which seemed almost impossible. The week had gone by so slowly for Antonio, he wasn't sure he had ever been in a situation that dragged on like this one had.

And what about Lovi? How had his week been? Had he been thinking of Antonio? Maybe he forgot about the evening he said he would spend with the spaniard. Maybe he had already forgotten Antonio's name. Why the hell was this happening? He shouldn't have been questioning himself, he really shouldn't have, but as he stared down at his shaking hands, he couldn't help but feel nervous about what could happen tonight. He stood up and backed away from the bed, hoping that moving around a little would give him the courage he needed to go back to the bakery to see Lovino. Why was this something that made him nervous? He had done worse than this before. He had been in situations where a normal man would have been paralyzed with fear and jittering nerves. But this was different.

"My God, what is wrong with me?" Antonio stepped out of his room and peered at the staircase. His chest seemed to lift. "I can do this. _Yo puedo hacer esto por el_~." He lifted one foot onto the top step. Then another, proceeding downward. Until finally, he had done it. He was at the front door. He was outside. His hand was resting on his horse. His fingers were entangled in the reins and he was hoisting himself onto the saddle. He clutched onto the horse as it sped off towards the bakery.

.

"Lovi, why do you need the night off? We were going to bake tonight so that we wouldn't have to wake up so early to bake in the morning. And you always like it when we bake together, I thought," Roma said. He was already taking out the ingredients while Feliciano was cleaning off the counters and pulling out bowls while humming to himself, clearly lost in his own little world. Lovino sighed. "Grandpa, I just thought I'd go out for once. Aren't you the one who always says I don't get out enough? Now I am. So I'd appreciate it if you could-"

"You're going alone?" Of course Grandpa Roma was going to question him. He felt foolish for thinking he wouldn't. Lovino crossed his arms and cleared his throat. "No, Grandpa Roma." Grandpa Roma opened his mouth to say something, but Lovino cut him off with, "The Spaniard. The bastard wanted to show me the city." Roma's eyes lost their shine and his throat went dry.

"Lovino, he seemed like a good man, yes, but do we really know enough about him to be sure he isn't one of them? He could-" Grandpa Roma kept talking, but Lovino wasn't listening. He tied his faded red cloak around his neck and pulled on his only pair of boots, lacing them with great care as to not break the laces like he had done last time.

_Ding!_

The golden bell above the front door rang. Someone was in the bakery. Lovino looked up from his stool behind the counter. His eyes met the eyes of Antonio, who looked paler than he had for some reason. The bastard had probably caught a cold. "You ready, bastard?" Antonio smiled and opened the door for Lovino, who scowled at the gesture before accepting it and walking outside. The sun was still in the sky, but it was steadily lowering. The moon was already up, though no stars were out yet. "Where the hell are you taking me, tomato bastard? And are we going to walk or what?"

Antonio laughed light-heartedly and stepped up onto his horse. "Where we're going is a surprise. Come on, Lovi." Lovino squinted at the Spaniard before stepping towards the horse. They didn't have a horse. They couldn't afford to keep up with one. He hadn't ridden one since before his mother died. He gulped and gawked at the creature, unsure of where to place his hands. He rested one on the neck of the horse, desperately grasping to the short hairs. This horse was a lot larger than any he had ever been on. Or seen. He looked for somewhere on the saddle to grab onto while Antonio let out a small chuckle. Lovino gritted his teeth. "What the fuck are you laughing at, idiota?" Antonio wasn't taken aback at all. He reached a hand out to Lovino, who watched warily. "Take my hand, Lovi."

Lovino examined the large, white-gloved hand. He didn't want to be helped by him. But he wasn't getting on the horse without Antonio's help. And where would he sit on the horse? He hadn't really thought about that. A small blush spread across his cheeks as he gulped and lifted his hand. "Wait a minute, bastard. Where am I supposed to sit?" Antonio grinned and raised his eyebrows slightly. "Behind me?" Lovino sneered and rested his hands on his hips. "Why should I be the one who has to sit in the back?" Antonio hadn't really expected that. He expected Lovino to not want to sit in either places. "Well, Lovi, you can sit in front of me and drive the horses if you'd like."

"Stop calling me Lovi, dammit," he said as he finally took the Spaniards hand. It was very warm, even through the glove. It felt amazing on Lovino's freezing hands. He almost let out a sigh, but caught himself just as his lips parted to do so. He was pulled up onto the horse, and to his surprise, he was placed in front. His eyes widened. "I don't know how to drive a fucking horse, bastard. I-I don't know what the hell I'm doing." Antonio let out one of his light laughs at this.

"You could start by taking the reins," he said. He looked down at Lovino. He enjoyed having him this close. He had an interesting scent. He smelled a bit like slightly burnt bread and fresh flowers. His eyes rested on his thin neck. It was pale naturally and marbled because of the cool air. The base of the back of his neck was very lightly covered in bronze coloured peach fuzz. It took everything Antonio had to not bury his face in Lovino's neck. He looked away with a deep, shuddering breath.

_"Adelante."_

The horse started, causing Lovino's head to slam backwards into the bastards chest. "Dannazione! Che diavolo? Bastardo! Come ti permetti?" Lovino was muttering visciously under his breath, but Antonio still had that damn smile. Lovino would have rubbed the back of his head if he wasn't holding onto the reins. He wondered how that bastard was able to stay on the horse without holding onto anything. Arrogant bastard. "I'm so sorry, Lovi. Is your head alright?" Antonio ran his fingers lightly over the back of Lovino's head. Lovino instinctively shivered, then returned to pouting. "Yeah, it's fine, idiota. Just don't do it again."

They rode a little ways. Lovino was constantly aware of the spaniards presence. He could feel his torso on his back occasionally, like when they stopped or the horse became jumpy. He was not a very soft man. He was as sturdy as Grandpa Roma. Almost. "Lovi, I'm going to take the reins from here," Antonio said. He leaned forward and took the reins, his arms surrounding Lovino, who shifted around on the saddle, his eyes widening at the arms to his left and right. They were comforting, but only because he knew that he couldn't fall off with the arms blocking the sides of the horse.

It reminded him of his father. He would go to Rome to see him every so often. This was one of the very few memories he had left with his father in it. He remembered going to the synagogue one day and riding on his fathers horse with him. _You're the oldest, Lovino. You can control this horse, can't you? Of course you can, figlio. _He was hoisted up onto the horse. Was it black? Or brown? He couldn't remember. But he could remember his fathers arms around him, controlling the reins. At the time, though, he thought that _he _was the one controlling the beast. His fathers hands had been there the entire time. He almost fell off that day, too, but the arms restricted him from doing so. They were postioned like Antonio's. That day had been good.

The horse stopped. The arms were no longer at his sides. He heard the bottom of Antonio's boots hit the stone streets. "Can you get down?" He realized he shouldn't have asked that when those amber eyes shot daggers at him and those pouting lips curled up into a disgusted sneer. "I can do it myself," Lovino said, his chest puffing out and his nose turning up.

The Italian landed on the ground with a thud. And no, he didn't land on his feet. His foot had caught somewhere on the saddle, he dangled for about a second, then fell on his back. Thank God Antonio hadn't seen him dangling there. "Lovi, are you alright? Are you hurt?" Antonio kneeled at his side and lifted Lovino enough so that he could sit up. Lovino was horrified that the bastard had to see him like this. His face was red and splotchy by now, he just knew it. "Of course I am, bastard. That was nothing," Lovino said. He stood and dusted himself off. Antonio did the same. He smiled down at Lovino, satisfied that the boy was fine. But his smile faltered.

Relief. He felt so much relief at knowing Lovino wasn't in pain. He wasn't acting or faking the concern. Nothing fake could make him feel what he felt when he thought that Lovino might have been hurt. He looked down in shame for a moment, wondering how the hell he was going to turn Lovino in. He wasn't spending time with Lovino for himself, he was doing it because it was his job. He was going to have to turn him in. There was no way around it.

"Tomato bastard, where are we?" Lovino crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows. Antonio smiled. "You told me that you used to go to gallery's in Italy. So I thought you'd like to see a Spanish one."

Yes. He was going to have to turn the Italian in. But not today.

Lovino's eyes lit up for a moment, then went dull again. "Whatever. I guess that would be alright." Lovino walked quickly up the steps to the gallery. In fact, Antonio had never seen him move so fast. He was clearly hiding his excitement.

The Gallery was very large and very beautiful. Many well-dressed people were there, and Lovino felt underdressed for the occasion. But nothing could spoil this for him. He wouldn't let anything ruin the wonder the room held. Antonio watched. Lovino truly took in each painting, finding something to admire about each one. It reminded him so much of home and so much of his mother. She had loved painting. Lovino loved painting as well, but he couldn't afford to do it anymore. The materials were far too pricey and he wasn't good enough to sell his work. Maybe he could be a painter in another life. He passed many paintings until he stopped on a small, bright one. It was of a field of yellow flowers with a stream running right through and the most beautiful blue sky. His heart stopped when he looked at the field. He reached his hand up to the painting.

It was so lovely. So much like his Italy it almost hurt. He wanted to run his fingertips over the small, painted flowers. He wanted to be able to breathe in the painting and smell the fresh blossoms in Spring. His hand hovered over the canvas, wanted so desperately to rest over the art piece, but that would have been rude. He knew how hard this artist had worked. He wondered if it was supposed to be Italy. He doubted it. But on the other hand, he was sure that there was no place in Spain that looked like that.

He wished it was possible to live in a painting. If that were possible, he would have dived head first into this one. He looked for a name somewhere near the painting, but there wasn't one to be seen. "Lovi? Are you alright?" Lovino's eyes shot up to Antonio's. "Why the hell wouldn't I be, b-bastard?" Tears rolled down his cheeks and fell onto his shirt. How long had he been crying?

"Lovino, I didn't think this would make you feel so much sadness," Antonio said, ashamed of himself for thinking this would be a good idea. Lovino crossed his arms. "I'm not sad at all," he said sadly with a sad expression. People in the gallery were staring at them now. The women seemed to be especially moved. Antonio took Lovino's hand. Surprisingly, Lovino didn't pull away. He lead him back outside with a comforting smile on his lips. "I guess this wasn't such a good idea, Lovi. I apologize for wasting your time. I truly do. And I would understand if you-"

"Shut up, stupid bastard," Lovino said. "Don't be sorry. I actually wanted to, uh," he paused to swallow the lump building in his throat, "to thank you. For showing me this." Lovino pulled his hand away and started for the horse. He managed to climb up onto the saddle himself with much effort. Antonio did it in one swift motion. Show off. Lovino decided it was probably best if he stay in the back this time. When the horse started forward, he clutched onto Antonio, a blush spreading evenly across his cheeks as he did so. He felt so warm.

Antonio didn't seem to mind, though. Lovino wanted to rest his cheek on the spaniards back, but he didn't want to intrude. When they got back to the bakery, Antonio, surprisingly, stepped off the horse. He took Lovino's hand, which the Italian let him do, as he didn't have the energy to argue, and helped him off the horse. He didn't fall this time.

"Lovi, I enjoyed myself tonight. I enjoyed seeing you react to the paintings. You look beautiful when you smile." Lovino froze and his eyebrows furrowed. "I smiled at some of the paintings? Why didn't you tell me, bastard?" Antonio chuckled and walked Lovino to the door. "I didn't want you to stop. It was more interesting to look at than the paintings." Lovino crossed his arms, a faint smile forming on his lips. "Lovino, I would really like to see you again. If you don't mind after what happened tonight."

Lovino scoffed. "Are you kidding, bastard? I don't want to go with you again except for maybe once or twice a week if I'm in a good mood." Antonio grinned at the wording and nodded. "Of course, Lovi," he said. They looked at eachother, waiting for one to say goodbye. Antonio had always been one to take initiative. He pulled Lovino's hand away from his body, uncurled his slender fingers, and kissed his hand, though not the back of his hand. That was something he did when he was trying to be polite to a woman. Lovino was far different. Antonio kissed his palm, then curled the fingers back into a fist again for him. "Goodnight, Lovi."

He didn't wait for Lovino's reaction. He climbed back on the horse and took off. But, as he was leaving, he could have sworn that he saw Lovino reopen his palm and press it to his cheek.

**To Be Continued . . . . **


	4. Chapter 4

The chair was harder than it had seemed to be in the past. Maybe it was just him and the chair had stayed the same. Regardless of which, Antonio rocked back in forth in his seat, unsure of how to sit on the stiff board. At least the rest of the building was beautiful. The windows looked especially lovely with the sunlight beaming through the coloured panes. Antonio forced a smile and shook his discomfort off.

"Antonio Carriedo? Are you right?" The scratchy voice caught Antonio off guard. He looked up at the man. Señor Augustine was his name. He had beady little eyes, long earlobes, and a quivering jaw. Sometimes, when the light was shining on his eyes just right, they burned a fiery red. Antonio had known Augustine since he himself was just a boy. He had been a very important member of the church he attended, though he never knew what his purpose was. He knew now. He was a Priest and Inquisitor, and a powerful one at that, though he looked like he could be pushed over by a light breeze. Antonio flashed him a fake grin. "Si, Señor Augustine." The man didn't look convinced, but he had more important things to worry about than Antonio. The doors of the cathedral opened.

Antonio was unaware that they were to be joined today by one of the heretics. He had seen this many times and was numb to it by now. The man was pushed into a small wooden box beside Augustine, who wore a seemingly neutral expression, though something in his eyes sent shivers running down Antonio's spine. Antonio glanced at the Jew, who was looking down, his face not visible. The blood instantly drained from his face. Was that Lovino? Good God. God, he wasn't ready for this. He felt like the world was spinning, like he might fall off at any moment.

The person looked up. There was a flash of blue. The eyes. The eyes were blue. And the nose was slightly larger. And the lips were smaller. And the build was different. As if the person was older and stronger. It wasn't Lovino.

At this discovery, Antonio felt his heart rise into his clenched throat. He swallowed it along with the steadily rising puke. He wasn't ready yet. He looked away from the Jew again. _Whatever they did, they deserve their punishment. Whatever they did, they deserve their punishment. Whatever they did, they deserve their punishment. Whatever they did, they deserve-_

"Estaban de Vega, we have brought you here so that you may confess your sins. So that you may be cleansed and accept Christ our Savior into your heart. We are saving you from eternal fire. Confess and you will be saved. Your slate will be wiped clean. And you may inform us of anyone else in danger of hells eternal fire once you've confessed. We wish for all souls to be saved. Please face the congregation and admit your sins," Augustine said. Antonio looked away. He knew this one would confess. He could see it in his eyes. And he was right. The man nearly recited Augustine's entire speech. And then he was asked to name the other Jews he knew. And he did. Smoothly and loudly, thinking of only himself and his own body, not his soul, not his families soul or friends soul, but his own physical body. Antonio felt the puke rising again.

What the hell was happening? He must have eaten something bad. That combined with this was wreaking havoc on his body. He wanted to excuse himself, but he had business to take care of. Oh, God. He had business. Yes. They would be asking about the Vargas family. They would be asking about Lovino. He pushed his fingers to his lips and grimaced. _Think of something else. _Lovi. _No, dammit, something else! Anything else! _The paintings at the gallery. And how his face looked while observing them. _No, Dios mio. _Going to the sea. He could think about going to the sea like he'd done many times years before. He almost smiled at the thought of Lovino at the sea. Pretending to hate everything. _No, you must stop this. _

Sweat trickled down the back of his neck as the eyes of Christ seemed to bore into him from the stained-glass window to his left. He was sure he wasn't going to be able to take it anymore, but before he stood up, the Jew was already being escorted out of the cathedral. That had been far quicker than in the past. Something wasn't right. Antonio hesitantly shrugged off the feeling that something about this trial was wrong.

"Lock the doors." That voice again. It was not a pleasant sound. The doors clinked. Antonio stood and came to the front of the Cathedral. Had it gotten warmer? It felt like it. Augustine smiled at him, though it was clearly fake. It didn't reach his eyes at all. "Antonio. You have been watching the Vargas family closely. And you'll expose them for what they truly are. Whether that be good or bad. Though I'm sure it's bad. They're all filth in that area of Barcelona. And especially in that house. How many people live in that bakery? We have it recorded as three people. No less, we're sure. I'm sure you've found out. You've always been the best when it comes to espionage." Antonio gulped, his face turning pale again.

"Si, Señor, I have found out. There are three people. An older man and two boys. Young men, I should say. Though I'm not entirely sure that they're Jewish, Señor." He had just lied through his teeth. God. Why had he just done that? He knew they were Jewish. _And they're going to find out. They're going to catch on. _No. No, he was the best liar he knew. They wouldn't catch on. He hoped. He muttered a silent prayer that they wouldn't find out. Augustine nodded curtly. "Find out soon. In the next two weeks, please. I've never trusted those Jewish pigs, Carriedo."

Antonio's eye twitched. He was just nervous. Augustine always made him nervous. He heard the door to the cathedral open again. He watched as a man he didn't know held out a white bag to Augustine, who had the faintest hint of a smile on his lips. He grabbed the bag, peeked inside, then put it in his pocket. Antonio watched with a raised eyebrow. He frowned at the growing smile on the mans lips. He hadn't noticed that the elderly man was watching his expression with great care. "It is just a little gift, Antonio. From that swine that you just saw. He wanted to thank us for saving his soul from eternal damnation," Augustine said. Antonio wasn't a fool. He understood well what had just happened. "He paid you off?"

Augustine patted Antonio on the shoulder. He wanted to get as far away from the mans touch as possible, but he knew how awful it would have looked. So he took it, trying to wipe the look of disgust off of his face. He smiled with all the strength he had left. "Very good, Señor. How you make your money is none of my concern. If you'll excuse me, I only have two weeks left. I'd like to get a start as soon as possible. Good day." Augustine nodded in response. Antonio walked mechanically down the isle and out the door, trying hard to compose himself. His hands were sweating more than usual. He unclenched his fists as he walked down the steps of the cathedral.

The cool breeze felt amazing on his warm palms. And it stung, too. His eyebrows furrowed. Stung? He looked down at his palms. Blood was smeared around four crescent shaped marks on each of his palms. He knew he had been digging his nails in, but he didn't think it had been this bad. He pulled out a pair of black gloves and slipped them on casually, hoping nobody had just seen his hands, or in other terms, seen the anger he had felt.

.

_What was wrong with that bastard? _Lovino pouted and looked at his reflection in the metal, water-filled bowl in front of him. He was supposed to be washing his face before bed, but he didn't feel like sleeping. All he could think about was that damn spaniard and how his lips felt pressed to his palm. He could only imagine how good they would feel pressed to every inch of his body. God, what was wrong with him? He shook the thought from his head and ran his fingers through his hair to smooth out the ends. He didn't even try to flatten the curl on the side of his head.

"Fratello, are you alright? You've been standing there for a long time." When had Feliciano entered the room? Lovino turned around hestiantly to face his brother, his eyes squinted and his lips pressed tightly together as if Feliciano's cheerfulness would infect him like a deadly disease. He shrugged. He really didn't know what his fratello had said. He had just sort of heard it, not really listened. He splashed the freezing water onto his face. _Damn, that's cold. _He patted his face dry and yawned.

Lovino hadn't really gotten much sleep the night before. Or on Friday. Friday especially. He figured that last night, though, he had gotten two. Maybe three hours. But he couldn't exactly bring himself to sleep. He was tired, but something in him wouldn't allow the rest. Part of him simply didn't feel like it. And he had to work tomorrow, there was no way around it. He pulled on the strings at the collar of his nightshirt, not really sure if he should lay down or not.

"Fratello, can you hear me?" He listened to Feliciano's words and measured them. "Yes, idiota, I'm not deaf. I heard you both times. I just didn't feel like answering," he said through another yawn. He finally sprawled out on the bed next to Feliciano, who was still talking about something. He wasn't exactly sure. He wasn't really listening. It was probably about pasta, anyways. Feliciano never really said anything important in his opinion. Lovino grabbed his pillow and covered his ears in a desperate attempt to mute the sound of Feliciano's voice. He looked up at the junky looking clock on the little table in the corner of the room. It was almost ten and he had to be up for work early. And he needed to at least try to catch up on sleep, even if he didn't feel like it. "Feliciano, shut up. I'm trying to get some sleep."

Feliciano was silent. For a minute. Then he, of course, found something else to chat about. Lovino sat up, his eyebrows furrowed and his lips pressed together so tightly he thought he might accidentally bite them off. He grabbed his pillow and a blanket from the chest underneath his bed. _I can't deal with that idiota, _he thought. They only had two rooms in the house. Grandpa Roma stayed in the room in the front. Feliciano and Lovino stayed upstairs. And there was a little water closet downstairs, too, but it definitely couldn't be counted as a room. If he decided to stay with Grandpa Roma, he would want to talk just as much as Feliciano. And then he'd spend about half an hour on his prayers, and that always made Lovino's stomach churn. And there was no way Roma was sleeping. He looked around, his eyes resting on the door to the bakery.

_Well, it's a room, right? And it's quiet. None of these bastards will be there. _Lovino walked into the room. The bakery looked so different at night with the lamps no longer burning. He looked around for a place to sleep. Everywhere looked uncomfortable. He grabbed one of the chairs from the tables and sat down. It was uncomfortable, but it was still better than listening to Feliciano all night after he had downed three cups of coffee. Which Lovino wasn't sure about. Coffee was pretty pricey, and if they really spent that much on coffee, he was going to be pissed. He rested his head on the table and his lips curled into a dissatisfied frown.

He needed to sleep. Badly. _Focus. Sleep. Think of something that'll make you sleep. Describe something. Describe that bastard. Describe him from what you've seen so far. Wait why him? Ah, shit. Don't question it. _He wiggled uncomfortably in the chair and shut his eyes. _Well, we should start with a specific part. Looks. Since that's the first thing you see. Okay, uh, he has tan skin. And brown hair. It's sort of a dull brown. The bastard has green eyes. Insanely green. The greenest eyes I've ever seen. That rhymed. They're green. Really green. Like emeralds. Where was I? Oh yeah, his eyes are green. Wait. I was past the eyes. He, he-_

Lovino felt himself drifting between awake and asleep. It was a good feeling, too. He kept thinking about those green eyes, sucking him into the dream world. Pulling-

What the hell was that? Lovino's eyes immediately opened and he sat up, nearly falling off the chairs. His heart felt like it was beating too fast. He pressed two fingers to his neck and checked his pulse. He needed to slow it down. But that noise. That was really what he needed to be focusing on. It was a small clicking noise. Like someone tapping metal or picking the lock. The lock on the front door. Somebody was picking the lock. Lovino looked around frantically, his eyes nearly popping out of his head. Grandpa Roma had to have some kind of weapon around here somewhere. He dug through the drawers under the counter, trying to be as quiet as possible as he heard some kind of scratching noise on the wooden door. He shook as he lifted a rolling pin out of the drawer, holding it like a sword. He stood up, his knees shaking. He sneaked up to the door, ready to hit whoever was going to enter.

The door was moving. Oh, God, why. Lovino stood behind the door and planned out his attack. Not very carefully, of course. A silhouette entered. A large one. Lovino didn't think. Well, I suppose if you consider _Fuck the plan, oh shit, abort, abort _an actual thought, then Lovino _did _think. He swung the rolling pin with all the strength he could muster. The pin vibrated in his hands and the handle broke off as the rod struck the man's head. He watched the silhouette stumble, then stand up again, grab what was left of the rolling pin, and slam it onto the ground. He felt an arm shove him onto the floor, then a boot press to his neck. _God. This is where it ends. I should yell. I could. No, no I couldn't. He'd kill me before help came. Oh, God. It's because I'm Jewish. And what if he gets to Grandpa Roma and Feli. And he'll kill them both. And I won't be able to help them, I- _

Lovino watched as the man pulled something out of his pocket. He heard a scratching and saw a light. A match. The man reached for one of the lamps on the walls and lit the almost completely melted candle inside. He held it to Lovino's face, and before Lovino could register what was happening, he was pulled into the mans arms.

"Dios mio, Lovi, my apologies. I thought you might have been a thief. And I-" Lovino punched him in the face, his entire body shaking. That bastard. That fucking tomato bastard. Lovino pulled away. "You bastard! You fucking bastard! You thought I was a goddamn thief? This is my house! I mean, I guess it isn't really my house, but it's my bakery! You scared the hell out of me! Why are you here? Do you see the time? And why did you pick the lock? What the fuck is wrong with you?" Lovino hadn't noticed the tears streaming down his face until he felt one land on his wrist. "Answer me, dammit! And don't wake up my family, either." Antonio looked like his heart had just been ripped out of his chest. The sight of Lovino's tears made his stomach twist. He didn't know how to answer the questions, but he could definitely make something up. "I heard there was a thief lose in this part of Barcelona. And that he often kills for what he wants. And I was worried about you, Lovi." Lovino wasn't convinced, though. He circled Antonio like a tiger about to pounce. "Why didn't you just knock?"

Lovino was good, but Antonio was better. "I didn't want to wake you or your family. I just wanted to make sure you had nothing out on the counters or tables of the bakery that was worthy of stealing. That way the thief would pass your house. And you wouldn't be in any danger. I'm so sorry. I really didn't plan on waking you or frightening you. I was just worried, Lovino." Lovino's amber eyes looked a little more relaxed. Antonio smiled at that, proud of himself for something he really shouldn't have been proud of. Antonio went around and lit all the lamps. Lovino looked around awkwardly, unsure of what to do. "Are you staying here or something, bastard?"

Antonio actually chuckled at that, casually flashing a charming smile Lovino's way. Lovino's face grew warmer. "Well, Lovi, I could go, if you'd like." Did he really want him to go, though? Especially after that, he wasn't sure he wanted to be alone. And if there was a thief somewhere in the area, he didn't want to be alone. But he could wake up Feliciano. He didn't want to, but he could definitely try. "Go home, bastard." Antonio stood there for a moment, his eyebrows raised and his lips pushed out slightly into a pout. But he nodded regardless and started for the door. Lovino walked back over to the door that connected his house and the bakery. He turned the doorknob and pushed. The door didn't move. It was always tricky like that. He pushed a little harder, but the door still didn't move. He jiggled the doorknob desperately, wishing he would have brought the key with him. He turned from the door and watched Antonio walk outside. Was he really going to do this?

Yes. Yes, he was.

"Hey, bastard. Wait."

* * *

><p><em>To Be Continued . . . . <em>

* * *

><p><strong><em>Thanks for reading! I wanted to make a note that I've had to do a good amount of research for this fic to be accurate (for the most part) and if there is anything that bothers you about the accuracy I'm doing as well as I can!<br>_**

**_Also, if you want translations for the Spanish and Italian words used, tell me and I'll begin posting them! But I don't really feel that it is needed until someone asks for it!_**


	5. Chapter 5

Antonio grinned as he leaned gently against one of the bakery's rickety tables. He couldn't believe Lovino was actually asking him to stay. He would have felt bad if he wasn't so happy about his circumstances. He had come to the bakery to find evidence against the Vargas family in actuality. He had, once again, lied right through his teeth. He figured he could find a secret room in the bakery where they might have stored a Torah or two. Maybe something else written in hebrew. Anything, really. Though he was hoping that he found a cross instead, but he knew that wouldn't have happened. Lovino was so incredibly obvious when it came to secrets. Antonio could see it in his eyes when he wasn't telling the truth. And his fear was more obvious than anyone elses he had ever known.

Antonio still wasn't sure if he would be able to turn in Lovino. He was so sure that it would have been easy. He'd turned in so many other people with no guilt. He'd even seen them killed. But he couldn't imagine Lovino being killed like they had. Come to think of it, he had felt something for the Jew in the cathedral the other day. Something that had dried his throat and nipped at his heart. Perhaps it was simply because the man looked a little like Lovino. He couldn't be sure. He wouldn't feel guilty. Not now after everything he'd seen. A little Italian couldn't change him so much.

"Bastard, why do you look like that? Are you going to throw up? Go outside if you're going to do that," Lovino said.

Antonio pulled himself out of his thoughts and smiled at Lovino. "You did hit me pretty hard, Lovi. I was actually surprised at your strength. Not that you look or seem weak. It just caught me off guard, for sure." Antonio rubbed the side of his head, brushing his fingers through his hair. Lovino watched with wide eyes, his nose scrunching up slightly. Antonio watched him, his eyebrow raised. "What?"

Lovino shook his head and backed away to the front of the counter. The wooden slabs in front of the counter groaned beneath Lovino's bare feet. "You, uh, you're bleeding. The side of your head is. I can see the blood on your hand." Antonio didn't respond. His eyes were glued on Lovino's pale feet and the bottom of his legs. He hadn't realized that Lovino was just wearing a nightshirt until now. How much did Lovino weigh? Not much. Not much at all.

"Bastard, what the hell is wrong with you? You're bleeding. Do you hear me, idiota? Hold on." Lovino shuffled around the bakery. There was the occasional _fuck _when he ran his foot into a box or bag of flour on the floor. He grabbed a rag and a bowl. "Water, where the hell did he put it? Oh, I see."

Antonio listened to Lovino mutter for a few minutes, his eyes still focused on that same spot. He remembered that spot squeaking when he had first entered the bakery a week before. There was something under the floorboards. From how casual Lovino acted around the spot, not even_ he_ knew that there was something hidden there. This was purely the grandfathers doing. He stood up straight and walked over to the spot. Lovino was rubbing a rag with a lump of soap and squeezing the excess water out. Antonio gulped and stomped on the spot. There was a few groans and a hollow noise.

He had been correct in his assumption. He stomped again. It wasn't huge, so there were no people in the spot. It wasn't even room size. It seemed to be about the size of a coffin, though that wasn't what was down there. But there were things down there. He could tell from the way the sound rang back. It would have been a deeper noise if the spot was empty. He shook his head. No. Not tonight. He couldn't check beneath the floorboards with Lovino here. Maybe there was a bible down there? And a small Christ figurine? No. He was in denial. Antonio flinched when he felt something cool touch the side of his head. Lovino was wiping the blood out of the Spaniard's hair. He really didn't want someone to bleed to death in the bakery. Not the bastard, anyways.

"Why the hell were you stomping?" Lovino looked at the bloody rag and gagged slightly. "Fucking gross."

Antonio laughed, his eyes lighting up in a desperate attempt to regain his composure. "I saw a spider, actually. And it took a few times to get it. It was very quick." Lovino "hmphed" and continued cleaning the wound on Antonio's head. It looked like he had just busted a vein. Lovino felt pained at the sight of the new bruise ripening on Antonio's head. "Hey, bastard. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hit you so hard. But you shouldn't have broke in like that. So it's your fault."

Antonio closed his eyes and focused on the way Lovino's fingers felt through the rag. "Don't apologize. It was my fault. And I'm sorry for shoving you. And stepping on you. You're alright, si?" Lovino grumbled. "Yeah, I'm okay."

They were silent for a minute or so. Lovino was nearly done cleaning the blood out of Antonio's hair, much to Antonio's disappointment.

"So, Lovi, why were you in here? I know you didn't hear me from your room," the Spaniard said through a yawn. Lovino threw the rag in the bowl of now pink water.

"Feli wouldn't shut his mouth. And I figured it would be easier to sleep in here because it's completely silent." Lovino grabbed a rag and ripped it into even shreds. He didn't want to ruin it, but he thought this was a good excuse. He wrapped Antonio's head up lazily. God, he was tired.

Antonio, of course, was smiling at something Lovino had said. Lovino scoffed. "Why the fuck are you looking at me like that? Stupid bastard. I'm tired. I haven't slept since you took me to that gallery. You probably cursed me or something."

Antonio stifled a laugh. "Cursed you? Lovi, please. Don't make me laugh. You must just be stressed." Lovino rolled his eyes, then said, "You probably cursed me when you kissed my hand, bastard."

Lovino looked up at Antonio and took a step back. He really didn't want to talk about that. He tried to not think about it when he looked at Antonio. And now here he was, not just thinking about it, but _talking _about it. He fought back a blush. Why had he said that? Sure, he had been thinking about it. But he hadn't really meant to say it aloud. But Antonio gave him a reassuring smile and put a hand on his shoulder. "Has it truly had so much of an effect on you that you would call it a curse? I didn't think you'd trouble yourself with remembering such an insignificant thing, Lovino." Lovino couldn't help but notice the emphasis the Spaniard had put on his name. The way he said it made him feel warm and light-headed. "Anyways, you really should be getting some sleep. When I was little my madre would tell me stories before bed. And they helped me sleep. Maybe it would help you sleep."

Lovino sneered. "I'm not a child. And besides, I don't want to sleep if there is a thief somewhere in this part of Barcelona. I can't take any chances." Antonio smiled at the thought of the thief he had created. Lovino wasn't in any real danger, but he couldn't tell him that. "Tell you what, Lovi. I'll tell you a story so you can sleep. Because I can tell you need rest. And I'll stay up and stand guard. I'll keep my hand on my sword the entire time."

Lovino crossed his arms and grumbled to himself. He didn't want to give in, but he was exhausted. He felt as if he might fall over at any moment. But he didn't want to be treated like a child. He was seventeen years old. But it would be nice to find something to finally lull him. He pinched the bridge of his nose and finally said, "Alright. As long as you make sure that Feliciano and Grandpa Roma aren't in danger of being murdered by a thief."

Antonio's eyes lit up and any worry he had melted away for the time being. "Buena, Lovi." Lovino shuffled over to his chair and sat. It was freezing in the bakery. Antonio was fully dressed in a coat and boots. Lovino really envied him. This was noticed by Antonio, who shrugged off his coat and handed it to Lovino.

"Put this on. And don't argue, I can tell you're colder than I am." Lovino looked at the coat. He could've refused it, but he really was cold. He grabbed it and slipped it on. It was already warm from Antonio's body heat. It smelled like a blown out candle and a weird kind of smoke from something burnt that he'd never smelled before. It reminded him of the time that Feliciano had attempted to cook a chicken and the entire thing had just fallen into the flames. Lovino almost smiled at the memory.

Antonio sat down next to Lovino. "What now, tomato bastard? You tell me a story?" Antonio laughed lightly at Lovino's tone. "Si, Lovi. What are your two favourite colours?" Lovino glared at the bastard. What did that have to do with anything? "Green and red, I guess."

Antonio beemed. "Gracias, Lovi. My madre used to tell me this story. It was always my favourite one."

Lovino scoffed. "Tell the story! I'm tired as hell!" Antonio cleared his throat and took his sword off in one swift motion. It was too heavy to keep on. He rolled down his sleeves and leaned into Lovino. "Once, there were two bears. A green bear and a red bear. The green bear and red bear were very good friends and saw each other every day. But one day the- oh wait, Lovino, which colour is your least favourite?" Lovino opened one eye. "Purple, I think." Antonio nodded. "As I was saying, one day the purple bears declared war on the red bears. Every bear was to participate in the great battle. But the red bear didn't want to go. And-"

"God, I don't know if I can listen to this, bastard. I'm seventeen fucking years old."

Antonio smiled very faintly, his eyebrows raising slightly. "As I was saying, Lovi-" Lovino sighed. "As I was saying, the red bear didn't want to go. He couldn't stand to not see the green bear every day. And the green bear couldn't stand to be away from the red bear. But the fact remained the same; the red bear had to fight for the other red bears. There was no way around it. So he came to the green bear on their final day together to bid him farewell, but before the red bear left the green bear said to him: 'Red bear, we will meet again someday. But until then, take this to remember me by.'" Antonio leaned into Lovino and kissed him lightly on the temple. Lovino opened his eyes in shock. " 'A kiss on the head to keep you wise during battle so that you may come back to me.' "

Lovino gulped, but said nothing. His heart throbbed uncontrollably beneath the blanket and the coat. "The red bear fought wisely, and he came back. The red bear and the green bear once again spent many days together. But the purple bears called for a battle once more, and the red bear was called upon. So the red bear went to the green bear for a final meeting before the battle. At this point, the red bear was a captain, and it was his job to give out orders. Before the red bear left, the green bear pulled him close and said to him: 'Red bear, we will meet again someday. But until then, take this to remember me by.' " Antonio leaned in once more and kissed Lovino on the cheek. Lovino turned red, but listened to the story. " 'A kiss on the cheek, right beside your lips, so that they know the exact orders to call out so that you may come back to me.' "

"Now, the red bear fought and commanded very well, and he came back. The red bear and the green bear spent many days together once more. But the purple bears called for one final battle, and the red bear was called upon. At this point, the red bear was very tired. He had fought in the previous battles, and though he had fought well, he was worn. So on the very last day before the battle, the green bear and the red bear met. It was the red bear this time who pulled the green bear in closely and said, 'Green bear, we will meet again someday. But until then, take this to remember me by.' " Antonio leaned in very closely this time. He moved aside his red coat and pressed a soft kiss to Lovino's collarbone, just above his chest. Lovino's breath caught in his throat as his eyes fluttered shut again. The kiss felt so wonderful. " 'A kiss above your heart, so that you may never forget how much I love you.' " Lovino watched Antonio's green eyes intensely, his bottom lip quivering as he did so. Antonio smiled faintly once he saw Lovino watching him. "The story is almost over, Lovi."

"This time, the red bear fought very hard. But the purple bears were too strong, and he wasn't able to make it back to the green bear. But the green bear wasn't discouraged or sad, for when he felt upset by the loss of the red bear, he placed his palm over his heart and said: "We will meet again someday, red bear. And until then, I will never forget how much you love me.' " Lovino watched Antonio. He almost wished the story wasn't over.

"Wait, bastard. That wasn't right. You were kissing me as the green bear, but in the last part, it is the red bear who kisses the green bear." Lovino sat up and scooted closer to Antonio. "It should have been me kissing you."

Lovino leaned into Antonio and kissed his collarbone, though he had to move his shirt out of the way. Antonio's eyes grew wide and his lips parted. It was the most wonderful kiss he'd ever felt in his life. Lovino blushed, wondering why the hell he had actually done that.

"Yeah, so that story wasn't really right. I just wanted to tell you that you told it wrong. Bastard." Lovino looked down and kept rambling. It was clear how nervous he was. Antonio leaned into the Italians face, prepared to give him a final kiss on the lips, but stopped himself. He wanted to feel those lips on his more than anything, but he didn't want to move too fast or scare Lovino away. The only thing worse than not kissing Lovino tonight would be to not kiss Lovino ever. So he refrained.

"Lovi, I think you might be a little too tired. I'll stay here and stand guard as promised. Goodnight, querido," Antonio said.

Lovino didn't want to sleep after what had just happened, but he could already feel himself drifting away. The last thing Lovino saw as he fell asleep was the side's of Antonio's lips turned up into a warm smile.

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><p><em>To Be Continued . . . . <em>


	6. Chapter 6

**If you would like more information on the Auto-De-Fe' mentioned in this chapter, there is a summary at the bottom.**

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><p>Lovino had been drifting in and out of sleep for a few minutes now, his body unsure if he was ready to wake up yet. He opened his eyes hesitantly. This wasn't his bedroom. He looked around the bakery, his memory flooding back to him. Antonio had been there. And he was gone now.<p>

"Bastard. He said he would stay," Lovino said. He couldn't help but be a little bitter, even when he noticed a thin piece of parchment on the table. It read:

_Lovi, I had to leave once the sun rose. I'm very busy today. I hope to see you soon!_

_~Antonio F. Carriedo_

Lovino sneered and stuffed the note in his pocket. Whatever. He rubbed his head and looked out the window. The sun was shining brightly. He was supposed to be working early, but it didn't matter now. It was too late. He wondered why Grandpa Roma wasn't up by now. Or Feliciano. As if on cue, the door connecting the bakery to the house swung open and both Grandpa Roma and Feliciano popped out. Grandpa Roma had tears in his eyes for some odd reason. He grabbed Lovino's collar and pulled him in, squeezing him a little too tightly.

"Oh, Lovi. I was so worried. I didn't find you in your bed. I thought they had taken you, figlio. I've never been so relieved in my life."

Lovino just stood there, listening carefully to his grandfathers words. He thought he had been taken in by the Inquisition? He immediately felt bad for leaving the house. He didn't want to cause his family any more troubles than he already did, and it broke his heart to see his brother nearly in tears. Feliciano embraced him, also squeezing a little too tightly, just like Grandpa Roma.

"I'm fine. I just couldn't deal with Feliciano's constant rambling. So I figured I'd hang out in here for a little while. I'm sorry for worrying you, Grandpa Roma," Lovino said. He really did feel awful for making them feel that way. There had to be some way to make it up to them.

"Grandpa Roma, I saw that we were almost out of cinnamon and eggs. I could go in and get it all for you to make up for the worry I've caused you. It's no problem. I'll be quick." Lovino knew the market made Grandpa Roma nervous. And the idea of Feliciano going was even worse. Before his grandfather could answer, Lovino ran upstairs to his room to dress.

.

The market was busier than he'd ever seen it today. There were people constantly shoving and pulling, yelling and muttering about something. He looked for the eggs. He had the cinnamon. It was always easy to find. But the eggs were always sort of tricky for some reason. He typically bought them from a Jewish woman who always wore a vibrant yellow scarf that could be easily spotted through a crowd. Her name was Elizabeth Tonqueda, if he was remembering right. She and her husband had come over a few times to celebrate passover. But she was not to be seen today. Lovino gulped and let his shoulders slump. Something seemed off today. He hoped it was just in his head.

As he was about to turn around and go back home, Lovino noticed the crowd swelling. He looked around in confusion. Was there supposed to be a festival today? He began to walk towards his home, which he guessed was about fifteen minutes away on feet. But more people were flooding the already packed street, and as hard as he tried to resist the mass of people, he wasn't strong enough, and was pushed in the direction they were headed. He looked around, his heart pounding out of his chest.

"We're a little late, but we didn't miss the good parts!" Lovino turned around and looked up at the man who had said the sentence. "Late for what?" He managed to say. The older man smiled a confused smile and crossed his arms. "The Auto-De-Fe' is today. Have you really never seen one? That's weird. But I guess you may not have been allowed to go. And you look like a servant. Are you a servant, niño?" Lovino gulped and nodded frantically. He had heard of the Autos, and at that moment, he was whatever the crowd wanted him to be. He just wasn't Jewish. The man laughed and clasped onto Lovino's shoulder, pushing him into the center of the crowd.

He had prayed that he'd never have to attend an Auto. He thought that even if he had attended one, he would have done it under far different circumstances.

The crowd finally came to a stop. Before him was a large wooden platform with rows of flags fluttering above it. To the right of the platform was a large, white cross. In the very center of the platform were two large stacks of firewood and straw, each with a long stake sticking out. Lovino shuddered, hoping this would be over soon.

.

The turnout was very impressive this time. Never had Antonio seen such a large crowd at an Auto. There must have been two-thousand people in the crowd. But Barcelona was a large city, after all. Antonio heard yelling to his right, which could only mean one thing. The prisoners had arrived. Antonio leaned against one of the beams supporting the platform and watched as two Jews, a man and a woman, were pushed through the crowd by the friars and Inquisitors. Antonio was merely an aide, and was thankful that he didn't have to help with the Autos. But he had spoken against the two Jews shown today.

He remembered them well. They were a couple of farmers who he'd spent time with. He had pretended to need a job. They'd hired him. And through the close relation, he gained evidence that they were, in fact, Jews. The woman had been kind, but nagged often, and the man had been quiet and stern, though understanding. As they came closer, Antonio looked down. But it did very little for him. He stared at a spot on the ground and only looked up when a splotch of spit fell upon it. He was used to getting spat at. He looked up to see the woman standing in front of him, saliva still sticking to her bottom lip. Her eyes were cold and unforgiving. He refrained from looking into them.

The woman was immediately gagged and forced up the steps. Antonio's eye twitched, but besides that, he had no outward reaction. But on the inside, he felt as if he might fall apart.

If that would have been Lovino, he would have been crushed. His heart would have stopped beating, he was sure of it. And suddenly, he felt pity. He pitied the woman. He pitied the man. Because they were Lovino. And he himself was Lovino. And if any of them were cut, they would feel pain, and they would bleed. Antonio nearly doubled over when the realization hit him. But he couldn't react. They would notice.

The only thing comforting him was the fact that once the pair were dead, they would no longer suffer persecution and scrutiny. They would be free.

.

Lovino watched as they pushed the prisoners to the left side of the platform. Then a priest stood up in the center. He was very odd looking. He looked like a sad old dog from where Lovino was standing. Did they have a sermon? Lovino wasn't sure. He had never done this. The man eventually began speaking. He spoke for a long time, too, but Lovino hadn't really paid attention. Who was counting down the minutes for the Auto to end. When the man stopped talking, Lovino sighed in relief. But the relief was short lived. Now was the sentencing. There were only two people and two stakes, so it was clear to Lovino what would happen to them.

He looked up at the couple. He had tried not to look at them, but part of him felt like he needed to see them. He wanted to take their sorrow and put it on his shoulders somehow. It was a man and a woman. They were dirty. The woman's hair was matted and looked grey from dirt and ash. The man had a long beard and thick eyebrows. They looked as though someone had tried to wash them off, but it was useless. He tried to see them closer, and immediately wished he hadn't. It was her. Elizabeth Tonqueda and her husband. He should have known when she wasn't at the market.

Lovino trembled when he heard the voice of the priest again. He seemed to be asking a question, though Lovino couldn't tell. Whatever the question was, neither of the prisoners answered.

Why? Why hadn't they just converted? Why hadn't they just played along? Lovino felt bitter tears welling in his eyes. If it were him he would have done whatever they wanted him to do. He would do anything to survive. He looked up at Señora Tonqueda. She looked up as well. Lovino flinched as their eyes met. Or was that possible? There were too many people. She couldn't possibly notice him. She was looking somewhere else. She had to be. Lovino wanted so much to look away, but he couldn't. And then he saw it. The hint of a smile on her lips. Tears threatened to spill out of his eyes. Why the hell was she smiling?

"That bitch and her husband. I knew they were Jewish, too. I told everyone. I did, and nobody listened to me. And they confessed, you know, too."

"You don't say? Why are they burning? That's not true, I'm telling you."

"They're selfish. They knew about other Jews and wouldn't give out names. Idiota's, if you ask me. Hell, I'd rat out my wife to get out of burning on that goddamn stake."

Lovino listened to them, tears sliding down his cheeks as he had a short epiphany. He was partially responsible for this woman's death. She knew. She knew about his family and himself. She could have easily given them away and saved her own life. And now she stood before him, being tied to the stake along with her husband. He covered his mouth was his hand and trembled, his knees weakening. He had to leave. He had to get out of here. He looked around frantically.

No matter how many breaths he took, he still needed more air. His heart felt like it was going to get lodged in his throat. He breathed faster and faster, his mind spinning. _Keep calm, keep calm, don't look suspicious. _He looked up at the couple again, his vision becoming blurry. The priest was holding a small golden cross in front of Señora Tonqueda´s face. What the hell was happening? A little boy beside him asked the question he was thinking, and was answered with, "If she kisses the cross, her soul is saved. And her death will be swift."

Lovino watched her. It almost seemed usless if it couldn't save her from death. Her small lips puckered towards the shining cross. Lovino's eyes widened. She was going to kiss the cross.

There was a chorus of 'ahs' and 'oohs' as the priest quickly turned around, wiping something out of his eye. She had spat in his face. The priest stayed calm somehow and went to her husband, who didn't spit, but wouldn't kiss the cross either. His decision was made once his wife had made hers. The priest lifted a torch and brought it to each of their faces, muttering something about hellfire.

Then each pile of wood and straw was lit on fire. Lovino gasped for air, trying to push through the crowd towards the front. _No. No._ All he could think was _no._ His movements were frantic. People gave him dirty looks and cursed at him, yelling things about wanting a better view. He needed to help them. Tears were seeping into the crack of his lips and rolling off of his jaw. But nobody seemed to notice. Nobody seemed to notice he was trying to help. His breath quickened and he opened his mouth. He was going to scream. He was going to scream and maybe they would notice him and stop the burning.

"N-" A hand slapped over Lovino's mouth. He clawed at the hand as he was dragged back into an alley. He squirmed and kicked, but it did no good. He bit down on the mans palm, who finally released him.

"Lovi, calm down. It's me. It's okay. Stay quiet, alright?"

Lovino stared at Antonio for a minute, his lips trembling and his head shaking, the word "no" still going through his mind. He glared at Antonio. "Bastard. You bastard!" Lovino beat his fists on Antonio's chest. "I was going to fucking save them, you stupid bastard!" He gave Antonio's chest a few more hard punches, then grasped onto the Spaniard's coat. He couldn't hold back the tears anymore. Sobs racked his body. He buried his face in the crook of Antonio's neck and tried to catch his breath.

Antonio brought Lovino in closer, shivering at the way Lovino's tears felt on his neck. He hated seeing the Italian like this, but it felt good to have him so close. "I can walk you home, Lovino. Come on."

Lovino nodded and pulled away. He wiped his eyes on his sleeve and took deep breaths through his nose. His eyes widened. He slapped his hand to his nose and pinched it shut, his breaths picked up and he was shaking again. The smell was terrible and burned his nostrils, but part of him, much to his dismay and confusion, was comforted by the scent.

"Lovi, this way. We'll cut through the buildings here," Antonio said. He didn't cover his nose. He was used to the smell of burning flesh by now. Lovino, instead of standing and moving like he should have, slid down the stone wall and curled up into a ball. There was no time for this. "Lovino! Get up! You need to get home!" Still, Lovino didn't move. He just kept muttering 'no' under his breath. Antonio scooped him up and started walking towards the bakery. He'd have to come back for his horse later. It would draw too much attention now.

.

Antonio could see the bakery in the distance. Lovino had calmed down enough to walk minutes before. He was pale and didn't say anything until he said, "Come on, bastard, we'll go through the back entrance." Antonio nodded and followed Lovino behind the bakery. There was a thin, chipped green door. Lovino crossed his arms and turned to face Antonio.

"Thank you, bastard. For getting me out of there today. I wasn't thinking straight. Thanks for stopping me from yelling," Lovino said. He stepped closer to Antonio, unsure of what to do. Thank god the bastard was good with situations like this. He pulled Lovino in and hugged him. It was a warm, secure hug that made Lovino feel warm all over. His eyes widened when Antonio pulled away, only to lean in again and place a gentle kiss on Lovino's lips. Lovino let out a surprised gasp and scooted away.

Antonio expected Lovino to slap him or push him away, but he just stood there for a moment. The moment passed and Lovino stepped towards Antonio again.

"Do that again, bastard. I wasn't ready last time," Lovino said. Antonio smiled and gave him another kiss, which he returned this time. Lovino turned and opened his door. Antonio began to walk back towards the Auto.

"Where do you think you're going, tomato bastard? You're staying for dinner."

.

Antonio had left his post and gone off somewhere into the crowd. He had been acting strange since he started to investigate the Vargas family. There was definitely something off about the young man, though it wasn't clear what it was. But one thing was for sure.

Antonio was in love. He had seen it all before. The look in his eyes. The way he smiled at nothing. The way he always seemed to be in a hurry. And it was effecting his work. He should have known by now if the Vargas family was a Jewish family.

Augustine squinted as he watched the friars clean up the remains of the Jews who had just been burned. He wasn't sure if they smelled worse dead or alive. He saw one of his aides moving towards him, a concentrated look on his face.

"Señor Augustine, the man you've requested is here. The new aide. And he's a good one, I've heard. Better than Carriedo."

Augustine nodded and smiled. "Well, I've always heard that the German's aren't ones to take pity or show mercy."

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><p><em>To Be Continued . . . . <em>

* * *

><p><strong><em>Auto-De-Fe': Auto-De-Fe' stands for "Act of Faith". They were popular during the Spanish Inquisition and are where heretics were sentenced. The sentences were then carried out in front of a large crowd. During an Auto, prisoners, or heretics, were led to a platform or some similar space where they could be easily viewed. They had a specific place to be held while a priest would perform mass, essentially reminding everyone at the Auto why they do the Auto and restating the faith.<em>**

**_ It was very crowded at the Autos. Some Autos had up to two-thousand people in attendance, as they were similar to festivals. Flags were carried, banners held high, life-size paintings of prisoners who had died before their sentencing were carried through the crowd. _**

**_After the mass, it was time for sentencing. Life in prison, house arrest, probation, fines, lashes, shunning, and death were some of the punishments. Death was almost always by fire, because the Church wasn't allowed to draw blood, so by using fire, they could execute prisoners without breaking the law, or bull. They also could use strangling or hanging, which was seen as more humane. Once you were given your sentence, it would be carried out for the crowd to see. _**

**_The death sentence: Prisoners were led to the stake and tied to it, sometimes with rope, sometimes with chain, sometimes with both. Wood would be stacked around you. They might add hay or straw to get the fire going. If your crimes were especially heinous, the wood around you would be green, meaning it would take longer to burn, therefore you would take longer to burn. Sometimes it would be stacked up to as high as your neck. _**

**_At this point, there is no way to escape death. You cannot say or do anything that will get you out of it. Even if you repent and give them what they want, information on other "heretics", etc., they will most likely believe that you are only giving them the information to save your own skin, and when desperate times come for desperate measures, people tend to lie. So you were most likely lying. _**

**_The priest holds a cross to each persons face. If they kiss the cross, they are not spared, but their soul is "saved from hells eternal fire". They are then supposed to be strangled by the executor before burning. So yes, the would still burn, but they would be dead. Humane, isn't it? If you didn't kiss the cross, it only proved you more guilty, and before you were burned, a torch would be held in front of your eyes to remind you of what you'll be facing in hell. Then you would burn. And the scent was said to be terrible, of course._**

**_To make sure that nobody properly disposed of your body, your burnt corpse would be hacked to pieces and thrown into a river. _**

**_That is what happens at an Auto-De-Fe'. Pleasant. _**


	7. Chapter 7

A week had passed since the Auto-De-Fe'. It had been a strange week, too. Lovino could feel his life changing, but he wasn't sure if this was a good or bad sort of change.

Antonio had come to the bakery twice during the week, and he had promised to come today.

He had eaten dinner with the Vargas family for the first time after the Auto, and nothing made him more nervous than doing so. Grandpa Roma was an intimidating man. Even more so when he was in his own home. Like a territorial animal. He was suspicious towards the Spaniard, but if Lovino trusted him, he trusted him, too. Because he trusted Lovino. Lovino wouldn't have let the man into his life if there wasn't something magnificent about him.

So the dinner had gone well. It was short and sweet. Lovino seemed embarrassed of his family at times, blushing occasionally, turning into a tomato doppelganger. Grandpa Roma had told stories of Italy for the last half of the dinner. While these stories were told, Lovino's lips would twitch up, his eyes would lighten, and pleasant humming noises escaped his throat. Antonio could hardly pay attention to the older man's words. He wanted to focus on the beautiful little Italian to his left.

He had actually tried once to gaze upon Lovino, and he must have been too obvious with his feelings, because the look Roma had given him made him shrink down in his seat. The man must have known what he felt for Lovino. He was smart, just like his grandson.

Alright, so the dinner might have had a few issues. But to be included into Lovino's life was an amazing feeling.

Antonio thought all of this over as he pushed the door to the bakery open. It smelled incredible. Like cloves and cinnamon. It was intoxicating how much it reminded him of Lovino.

Lovino was standing behind the counter kneading dough. He had a light blue rag tied around his head to keep his hairs away from all of the food he was carefully preparing. His eyes were concentrating on the dough, but somewhere behind the golden irises, there was some sort of dream playing itself out. Antonio grinned and set his sword down. "Lovi!"

Lovino continued kneading the dough. "I need to talk to you, bastard. I haven't thought about it so much, I guess I've just been pushing it out or something. But I can't just pretend that something isn't bothering me."

Antonio's throat went dry. He held his breath and said, "What is it?" He had found out. He had figured out that the was an aide to one of the Inquisitor's. Wait, no, that wasn't right. He would be much more frightened if that were the case. Antonio calmed down, though he was still nervously rubbing his hands together.

"I think it's pretty damn funny how quickly you got to me at the Auto. I didn't think you'd be around that part of Barcelona. And you left me a note that said you were busy or something like that. But you were right there," Lovino said.

Antonio smiled a shaky smile. "Yes? And you're wondering how I got there?"

Lovino nodded and stoked the fire in the oven. Antonio wrung his wrists. "Well, I remembered I had left my coat with you. And I headed back to the bakery to get it, but I saw a large crowd, and I know what an Auto looks like. I've been to an Auto. Just once, though, years ago." Lie. "I spotted you in the crowd, and I went and grabbed you before you could have yelled anything. You looked like you were about to yell, I mean."

Lovino didn't nod this time. He turned to face the Spaniard. He looked angry and flushed. Antonio waited for him to yell at him, but it didn't happen. He spoke softly. "Bastard, I wanted to talk to you about what you saw. You saw me . . . crying."

Antonio nodded, curious as to where this was going. Lovino was hoping he wouldn't have to say anything more for the bastard to see where he was going with this, but of course, he did. "Bastard, come with me." Lovino threw his apron off and headed into the house, leaving the bakery unattended. Lovino headed upstairs to his bedroom. He wasn't sure if that bastard was following him. He sat on his bed, facing the window. The sky was a light blue today, Lovino noticed.

There was a muffled cough behind him. So the bastard had followed. Good.

"Bastard, listen. You saw me crying. I was crying for that couple. I was crying for . . . for Jews. I was going to yell out for them but you stopped me. And I realized that I could have been denounced as a heretic. As a Jew. And you knew that, too. You could have denounced me." Lovino turned to face Antonio, his eyes squinted and his lips turned up into a pout. His eyes were glossed over and distant. He began to stand, but his knees shook. Not much, just enough for Antonio to notice.

He leaned into the taller man and awkwardly rested a hand on his bicep. It was supposed to be comforting, Antonio guessed. "I trust you, bastard." Lovino looked down at his shoes. "And you know. I know you know."

Antonio's eyebrows furrowed. Was he talking about . . . ? Antonio turned white. He simply nodded and looked away. Lovino opened a drawer on a table in the corner of the room and pulled out a small, golden chain. He tossed it between his palms, looking at the emblem on the golden strand. He held it out to Antonio, who opened his gloved hand hesitantly.

The quiet sound of metal hitting metal. That was all he could hear. Antonio's fingers shook as he uncurled them to look at the necklace in his palm.

His stomach lurched. It was a shining star. The Star of David. Antonio held it by the chain. The little star swung around in small circles, glistening in the sunlight, showing off its sharp little arms.

Lovino sat on the bed again. He had never told anyone what he was telling him, but if he couldn't trust Antonio, he couldn't trust anyone. "It isn't a big deal though, bastard. It doesn't actually matter. I'm not really religious, anyways. I just have that necklace from when I was younger. It's pretty fucking tacky if you ask me." Lovino was playing cool, but Antonio knew he was afraid.

"Lovi, thank you for telling me. And yes, I did know." Antonio sat next to Lovino on the bed. "Here." He opened his hand and waited for Lovino to take the necklace back, but Lovino looked away.

"I don't want it. I want you to have it. Keep it. Sell it. Melt it. I don't care. I don't want it, though," Lovino mumbled. Antonio looked at the little necklace once more before putting it in his pocket. He wouldn't sell it. Not for the world.

He smiled at Lovino, trying to forget what really just happened. He leaned into the Italian and kissed him on the jaw. Lovino scoffed and crossed his arms, but he didn't push Antonio away, and that was good enough. "Lovi, you trust me?"

Lovino blushed. "Shut the fuck up, bastard." Antonio stood up and walked towards the door. Lovino looked away, thankful that the blush on his cheeks was fading.

"Yeah, get out of here already, bast- ugh!" Antonio scooped Lovino up and held him bridal style. He buried his face into the crook of Lovino's neck, just like he had wanted to for the past two weeks. His neck was faintly damp and very warm.

"Lovi, you're so warm here," he said. He placed light, feathery kisses along the veins tracing Lovino's neck. Lovino's body visibly weakened. He made those little humming noises that he had made at dinner a week before. Lovino wanted to stay like this forever. In Antonio's arms. Being kissed over and over again. Getting to feel the lukewarm, soft gushes of air that Antonio breathed out. Yeah, he could stay like that for the rest of his life. But he couldn't. At least, not today.

"Hey, b-bastard, I have to get back to work." Antonio set Lovino on the bed again.

"Lovino, I have something for you, querido." Antonio hands fumbled with something on the back of his neck. Finally, he held out a little silver chain with it's own emblem dangling from the center. He kissed the emblem once, softly, then dropped it into Lovino's hands. Lovino looked down at the little emblem. It was a gleaming cross. It was a very beautiful cross, too. Lovino ran the tips of his fingers over it. It was warm from being pressed to the Spaniards chest.

"Antonio this is . . . I mean, bastard, this is pretty okay, I guess. Thanks. But I'm not a damn Christian." Antonio's stomach lurched again at the reminder, but he smiled nonetheless.

"That's okay, Lovi, I just wanted you to have something to remember m-"

The door slammed open. "Looooviiiiiii!"

Of course. Feliciano had to come in now. Lovino gritted his teeth, almost growling at his fratello to get the fuck out.

"Fratello, I need to wash up before dinner. And you need to go down to the bakery. I've been working for twenty minutes now because you left! Oh, ciao, Antonio!" Feliciano smiled brightly at Antonio, who returned the smile and waved back casually. Lovino's jealousy was getting the best of him. He grumbled to himself as he pushed Antonio out of the room and followed him downstairs.

Feliciano smiled to himself and began to take off his apron.

.

The window could have been cleaner. Whoever cleaned this house did an awful job. But he supposed it didn't really matter. It served well it's purpose. This is where Augustine had told him to go, and he wasn't one to argue.

He crossed his arms after opening his window a crack. Now Vargas looked pissed about something, as he had before, and Carriedo was walking towards the door.

Carriedo was behind Vargas, though Vargas didn't notice. He raised an eyebrow when Carriedo lifted up Vargas. So that was his act. Carriedo pretended to be a homosexual to gain the trust of Vargas. Good plan, though he personally wouldn't have gone through with it.

Carriedo sat Vargas down after he whined about something. Carriedo gave him something. A necklace. Most likely a cross, from what he knew about Carriedo. He watched closer. They were talking. But the doorknob was moving. Someone slammed the door open and stepped in. Klein Vargas. Klein Vargas grinned widely. He could see the grin from here. That was strange.

Jews didn't feel real happiness. Only pride over their crimes. The boy had probably stolen from some Christian woman or something filthy like that. Disgusting. He had heard that the Jews here would kill little Christian children and eat them. He thought that was far-fetched, but again, he wasn't one to argue.

Klein Vargas was still smiling as Carriedo and Vargas walked out.

That was it. He had the evidence. He had seen everything and knew that this was a Jewish family. He smiled to himself as he remembered the prize waiting for him. They were paying him a hefty sum to get the evidence on this family. He was surprised Carriedo hadn't gotten the evidence sooner.

Klein Vargas was taking off his apron and smiling at himself in the mirror. He turned from the window. He didn't need to look anymore.

But there was always more evidence. Better evidence. And he was looking at Klein Vargas again, who was unbuttoning his shirt.

_Evidence, always more evidence, _Ludwig thought to himself.

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><p><em>To Be Continued . . . . <em>

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><p><em>Note: "Klein" means "little". So when you read Klein Vargas, it is Little Vargas or Mini Vargas.<br>_


	8. Chapter 8

**Thank you to the person who informed me that I had posted the same chapter twice! My laptop has been malfunctioning.**

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><p>"You want to do WHAT, bastard?"<p>

Antonio grinned down at the Italian. "Let me cook for you. I mean, I enjoyed dinner last time. Really, I did. But I want you to try my cooking. Please? Just this once, I swear."

Lovino scoffed and hung his apron over his shoulder. "I'm not so sure about that, tomato bastard." Antonio stepped closer to Lovino and simply looked the smaller man in the eyes. Lovino's eyes were so wonderful. They were a sort of hazel in the dark, but in the light they turned more of a honey colour. Antonio could see himself in those eyes, too. He noticed the way the pupils became larger when Lovino was looking at something he enjoyed. And he could have just leaned in and kissed the lids of those beautiful, glassy eyes.

Wait, he could do that. Couldn't he? And maybe it would even convince his little Lovi to let him cook dinner tonight for the Vargas family. He grabbed Lovino, who was still talking, by the shoulders and kissed just slightly below his eyebrow. Lovino let out a sort of sigh, though Antonio couldn't tell if it was because he was pleased or annoyed.

He guessed pleased, because Lovino then said, "Alright, whatever, bastard. You can cook, I guess. Just don't ruin our kitchen and don't make something gross with potatoes. Potatoes are disgusting as hell."

Antonio beamed as he watched Lovino go back into the house to tell Roma and Feliciano that 'the bastard was cooking them dinner tonight'. He could hear Roma say something like, "Well, a man does get tired from cooking for himself every now and then." Antonio figured that the statement went both ways. It did get old to have to cook your own meals, but it also got old to only be able to cook for yourself every time you ate.

Lovino opened the door and motioned Antonio into the house. Antonio didn't hesitate to enter like he had the first time he was invited into the Vargas home. The wood burning in the fireplace smelled comforting. It smelled like home. Like family.

And it smelled like how Antonio imagined love would smell.

"Lovino and Feliciano, I want you two to go in the bakery and go ahead and put the fire out. And put the bread away for tomorrow," Roma said. Antonio began to follow Lovino, but was stopped by Roma's strong arm. Antonio paled as he watched the two young men disappear behind the door.

"Sit down, Antonio. No need to be concerned. I just wanted to have a talk with you." Roma nodded at a wobbly chair beside the white table in the corner. He sat as he was told, not daring once to speak out of turn. He didn't want to screw this up.

"Now, what is your full name, Antonio?"

Antonio gulped. "Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, sir." Alright, one question down. That was something, right?

"What do you do for a living, Antonio?"

Oh, he had prepared for this question. A lie, that is. "Well, sir, I was, for a while, a student. How I get my money now is by translating books from Latin, French, and English to Spanish. It allows me a great deal of spare time." He wrung his wrists anxiously. He hoped Roma didn't notice his nerves.

Antonio wiped a bead of sweat from the back of his neck and smiled politely at the slightly larger man. He, surprisingly, smiled back. "I have a book in French. Why don't you translate it?" Roma stood up and picked up a thin book from a stack of many. Antonio knew French, but not very well. He pulled at his collar, hoping he wouldn't screw this up. Roma opened to a random page in the middle. "Translate."

Antonio cleared his throat and read a short paragraph. He looked up at Roma and sat the book down. He was squinting now. Oh, God. He had messed up.

But instead of killing him, Roma grinned. "Well, there was only two words that were a little off. So you're the real deal, huh? So tell me, Antonio. What do you want with Lovi?"

This question was worse than the last one. Antonio shifted in the chair. "I do not understand, sir. I just wish for the friendship of your grandson. Nothing more."

"I'll speak plainly, Antonio. Cut the shit. I see the way you look at him. It is the same way I looked at the woman I loved many years ago. Like that person could make any day the best day of your life. They could make a grey sky blue as the clear sea. Like God himself made them just for you. I see it in your eyes. And you're lucky, because I see it in Lovi's eyes, too. If I didn't see it, I'd have told you to get out of his life before now. So tell me, what do you want with Lovi?"

Antonio thought he was going to melt. He scratched his palm with a shaky hand. "I-" He didn't know what to say. He could feel his eyes glazing over. God, he didn't want to ruin this.

He finally stood up, wringing his wrists so hard that he thought he might have cut his circulation off. He parted his lips. "Sir," he began honestly, "I just-" He looked down at the floorboards and thought about Lovino. He thought about the moments he had spent with Lovino. There wasn't many of them, and yet it seemed like he had known Lovino his entire life. He thought about the smile he was allowed to see on special occasions and how beautiful the Italian looked when something made him happy. And he knew. He knew what he wanted with Lovino.

He didn't want sex. He didn't want anything material like that. Well, not entirely, at least. And he really didn't want to turn Lovino in. And he was starting to believe he really wouldn't. He . . . He just . . .

"I just want to make him happy. I expect nothing in return. His happiness brings meaning to my life." Antonio hadn't realized that he was smiling, but he was. Roma examined him for a moment, then finally nodded in approval.

"Alright, Antonio. Alright. But if you hurt my precious Lovi, I will castrate you. Yes?"

Antonio nodded grimly. Roma flashed a warm smile and called for Lovino, who hurried back into the house. "Feliciano and I are going to finish cleaning the bakery, figlio. I just want you to relax, alright? I know you've worked in the bakery for a while today." Roma disappeared into the bakery. Antonio glanced at Lovino who glanced back, and it was obvious that Lovino knew exactly how the conversation had went.

"Sorry about him, bastard. He means well."

Antonio just nodded and let out a nervous laugh.

.

Lovi pulled his legs up as he watched Antonio cook. Antonio wasn't very careful when he cooked, but he was also very quick, so that might have been why.

He didn't seem bad at cooking, though. It caught Lovino off guard. He hadn't known this about the Spaniard, and it made him think. What else didn't he know about this man? He hadn't known him for very long at all. Lovino leaned back and watched Antonio's hands. "Hey bastard, I don't really know anything about you. Have you realized that?"

Antonio stopped cooking for a moment to smile at Lovino. "Forgive me for that, Lovi."

Lovino sneered. "No. No need to forgive you. But I want to ask you questions, you know, bastard. I think I have the goddamn right to know you better. So where do you live, anyway? I see you here all the time. But I never hear about your home."

"It isn't much of a home. A loft. It is good sized, but I live alone. And it isn't very enjoyable to be alone all the time, is it?"

"Depends on who is with you when you're not alone. Where is your family? Do they live in Barcelona or what, bastard?"

Antonio stopped cutting whatever he was cutting and looked up. His lips were smiling, but his eyes were dark. "They passed away years ago. But I don't really remember. I'm not sure how they passed. It was so long ago. I was five. And I was taken in by some nice couple who now live in France. They had a good amount of money. Enough to put me through school. And to make sure I never went hungry. And to bring me up in the church, I suppose. So yes, it was sad that they passed away. My parents. But everything turns out in the end, doesn't it?" His smile looked pained now. But he didn't remove it. It just sat there, mocking it's owner.

Lovino shook his head and sat up. "Shit, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked." He stood and walked over to Antonio. "You don't have to answer these, by the way." Lovino attempted to comfort Antonio by clinging to his bicep. Antonio smiled at the attempt, at least.

"I'll just ask one more. What, uh, what the hell are we? I mean, I'm not a complete idiota, you know. This is what people who are together, er, romantically do. They spend time together, and kiss." And other things. But Lovino didn't want to mention that. He wasn't exactly sure how it worked between two men. "Or is that wrong, or something? Because we're both men and I try not to think about it because it seems weird. I've never seen a man and a man. But you feel right. I probably actually sound really fucking stupid. But do you see? You see what I'm saying, right?" Lovino looked at Antonio hopefully. Antonio stared down at Lovino, one eyebrow slightly raised.

Lovino recoiled. "Oh, shit, I wasn't misreading, right? Fucking shit. God fucking dammit." The smaller man grimaced and turned away. He could hear Antonio laughing softly behind him. He spun around and punched the Spaniard's arm. "Why are you laughing at me, bastard?"

"Aw, Lovi, come on. Don't. You weren't misreading anything. I'd say we're together. Because I feel the same way about you, _mi querido._ And I wouldn't see it as wrong. I feel happy when I'm around you, and I know, with every single beat of my heart, that there is nothing wrong with loving you. And there is nothing wrong with you loving me. Not that you do. If it makes you happy to not love me, so be it."

Love? Antonio loved him? He loved Lovino? How did this man love him? Antonio must have seen the confusion, because he took Lovino's hand and pressed soft kisses to it. "Lovi, I want to show you something." He rested the Italian's hand below his jaw. Lovino's hands were small for a man's, but his fingers were long and thin. And very cold. Lovino could feel Antonio's blood pulsing through the thick vein under his jaw. It both frightened him and intrigued him.

"Antonio?" Lovino felt a hand slide atop his own. Antonio smiled a gentle smile, his eyes brightening for a moment. Antonio pressed his forehead to Lovino's. The smaller man thought about pulling away. It was his instinct, after all. But he couldn't move. His body wouldn't allow it. So he watched the green eyes pierce his own. And there were two lips on his own. His eyes shut. And his lips moved softly against Antonio's.

He could still feel the vein beneath his fingers. The blood pumped quicker. Antonio's heartbeat was speeding up. And it felt wonderful. Lovino felt appreciated. Wanted. Needed. And he had never felt anything better in his entire life. He wrapped his arms around the Spaniards neck and pulled his lips away.

"This is what you do to me, Lovi," Antonio said, sliding Lovino's hand down to his chest. His heart was pounding at a quick pace. And it was getting quicker. Lovino looked at his hand on the Spaniards chest.

This is what it felt like to be loved. To love. This had to be it. He grasped onto the Spaniard like they could be ripped apart at any moment. He placed sloppy kisses all over Antonio's tanned neck, which Antonio eagerly accepted. He tilted his head back so the Italian could have better access. He took advantage of the position and wrapped his lips around the soft flesh below Antonio's ear. Was he doing this right? It seemed so.

"Mmm- Lovi?" Lovino pulled away and looked up at Antonio, eyes burning that bright honey colour again. A faint smile even played at the Italian's lips. Antonio traced them with his thumb, pulling on the bottom one gently, enjoying how damp and warm they still were. "Te-"

"LASCIARE, LOVI!"

Lovino looked up at the door to the bakery and broke away from Antonio, who looked around in confusion. Lovino grabbed his boots and his cloak in one hand. He slammed the green door open. "Antonio, come on! It's them! Aw, fuck. Get your shit!" Lovino grabbed a tomato and stepped outside. He turned around. "Bastard! Why are you just standing there?!"

Antonio watched the tears welling in Lovino's eyes. " 'Tonio, come on! God, you're cutting it really fucking close." The sounds of scuffing boots came from the bakery. The door was being pushed and kicked to get into the house.

Antonio spoke softly. "Go, Lovino. Please."

Lovino stepped back inside, tears spilling out over his cheeks. "No. Please. They'll take you for conspiracy."

Antonio shook slightly. "Lovi, please. Run. Please for the love of God. Run."

Lovino scoffed angrily, his face turning bright red. "I don't want to leave without you! I-I love you, dammit! Please!" Angry tears fell down his neck. There was a resounding kick.

A crack.

And the door was open.

Six men came in. They were all big. All strong. They passed Antonio, who was trying his hardest not to tremble. Lovino turned to run out the door, but he was grabbed quickly and pushed to his knees where he couldn't kick at any of the men. He forced himself to stop crying. He didn't want to cry in front of these men. He was a man, dammit. But Feliciano. And Grandpa Roma. Where were they? He tried to peek into the bakery, but all he could see was the front window.

There was no sound of Feliciano crying or Grandpa Roma yelling. Nothing. They must have taken them already. Lovino looked at Antonio. He had to help him. He made up a quick lie. "I'm sorry you had to see this, uh, and the house you were looking for is down the street to the left. It has flowers in the windows and a painting on one of the glass panes."

Antonio tried to swallow the lump built up in his throat. He wanted to smile. To let Lovino know that everything would be alright. But he couldn't. And now Lovino was trying to help him from the danger that he wasn't even in. And Antonio could do nothing but stand idly while Lovino was lifted to his feet. He glared at Antonio. "Leave, sir. It would be wise of you."

Why wasn't Antonio leaving? Why was he standing there? One of the six men smiled a toothy grin and glanced from Antonio to Lovino. "What is this, Carriedo? What the hell is he talking about?" Lovino watched the man curiously. Antonio said nothing. "Shit, Carriedo, you are good. I mean, you take more time than that German sonofabitch, but damn. You know, I always said you should have joined one of those troupes or whatever the hell they are, you know? Like do plays and shit. But thank God you're not, right?" The man smirked at Antonio, who stared at the floor. Lovino felt like his heart was spasming.

"A-Antonio. What is h-he talking about?"

Antonio swallowed hard and looked away. He picked up his coat as casually as he could. But he didn't dare answer. He slid his coat on and started for the door to the alley.

"An- Antonio? B-Bastard?" Lovino's voice cracked and shook with each word. The six men laughed, a few mocked him, doing fake voice cracks and reaching out longingly to nothing, eyes smiling. "Bastard? Well that is one hell of a pet name, Carriedo."

Antonio kept his eyes down as he re-opened the door.

_"Please."_

A whisper. Just a whisper. Antonio froze and looked down.

"Please. Just tell me what's going on," Lovino said, his voice calmer than it should have been. Antonio opened his mouth to speak, but the words wouldn't come out. He stared sadly at the dirty alley, wanting desperately to escape.

"I'll tell you what fucking happened, dipshit. You're a Jew. Right? Right. It is Antonio's job to aquire evidence that you are actually Jewish. We want to be accurate on the occasion. And this was the case he was given. He was supposed to get close to a member of the Fargis family or whatever the hell your last name is. And through them he would get what he needed. And he's brilliant, isn't he? Really had you going, didn't he, idiota? You can't fall in love with a Jew. Even a pretty one like you. And you really are a pretty one. Especially that brother of yours. The little one, you know, the one that cried out for you while he was being taken away? Yeah. Carriedo, you should have gone for that one. The little one. But I like it when they have some fight, too. And this one seems to have just that," the man with the toothy grin said.

Lovino looked at Antonio, sadness and anger filling him. "Antonio? I should have known. I'm so stupid." More tears. "You bastard. You fucking bastard. I thought you loved me. Did you fucking hear me? I thought you fucking loved me! You fucking asshole! You sonofafuckingbitch! How fucking dare you put your goddamn lips on me? You liar! You fucking liar, you lying pile of shit! I hope you die! I want you to fucking die!" Antonio stepped out. "DON'T YOU FUCKING WALK AWAY FROM ME YOU GODDAMN SHIT-EATING SONOFABITCH!"

Antonio shut the door, but all he could hear was Lovino yelling. "I hope you fucking die! Kill yourself! I hope you catch the goddamn plague! I hope you impale yourself on your own sword! I hope you feel like shit for what you've done! You piece of shit! You're a goddamn bastard! AND I HOPE YOU DIE! I HOPE YOU'RE KILLED TONIGHT IN YOUR SLEEP! I HOPE YOU FEEL BAD! I WANT YOU TO BURN IN HELL WHERE YOU BELONG! BUT I WANT YOU DEAD! I WANT YOU TO KILL YOURSELF! And I want you dead." There was a sharp cry and Antonio knew Lovino was sobbing. "And I want to be dead with you."

Antonio covered his mouth as tears streamed down his face. He couldn't stay here. Not anymore.

He left without a single word.

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><p><em>To Be Continued . . .<em>


	9. Chapter 9

**if for some reason any of you would like to follow me on tumblr (I post story updates and info on upcoming fics) my tumblr name is millie-bates. And feel free to criticize my chapters. I can't improve without reviews, so please, if you have to, slay me. Thanks!**

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><p>Lovino looked around the small room. It wasn't as terrible as he thought it could have been. He wasn't exactly sure where he was. He had been immediately thrown into some sort of carriage and was taken to somewhere about thirty minutes away from his home.<p>

He eyed the room again. There was a bucket in the corner. A dumpy little bed which he sat on. And finally a little desk sort of thing with a chair beside it. There was paper on the desk, just three sheets or so, but nothing really to write with. There were two candles in the room which were placed in little brass holders on the walls. There was a large, oak door to his left. The only way out. There were no windows in the room. He couldn't tell when it was day or night. He guessed it was early morning at the moment.

Lovino had been sitting in the room for hours. Nobody had spoken to him. He had no idea where Grandpa Roma and Feliciano were, but he hoped they were somewhere near. Hopefully in the same building.

He leaned his head against the wall. He wanted to feel more concerned about the fact that he could die in this place and about his family. But his family was strong. Hell, even Feli. He just never showed it.

And maybe it would be for the best, anyway, if he died in this room.

Lovino almost wanted to die. He was exhausted. He felt like he had just finished running for an hour straight without water. He wanted to shut his eyes and sleep. But not for a few hours. Not for an entire night. That wouldn't be enough. He wanted to shut his eyes and sleep forever. He wanted to be able to stay in his dreams when he drifted off. He wanted to live where Antonio was and where Antonio's actions were chosen by himself and the Spaniard would never betray him. Yes, he couldn't betray him in his dreams.

A dark smirk spread across his face at the thought. Dreaming forever.

How stupid was he? He buried his face in his palms and let out a dry sob. Dammit. He should have known. This was partly his own fault. The evidence was so clear. And he chose to ignore it. From the first time he saw the man he should have known. The sword. His formality. The way his eyes lit up when he saw Grandpa Roma. And the way he stared at everything and everyone like they were just cattle ready to be slaughtered.

The smell of the coat. He let out a disgusted, muffled cry at the scent he now recognized. It had smelled like the Auto. Like burning flesh. Lovino's stomach churned at the memory and he ran over to the bucket in the corner, emptying the contents of his stomach into it.

God. Why was this happening? Lovino wiped off his lips, wishing desperately for something to drink. Water. Milk. Wine. Anything to get the bitter taste of vomit out of his mouth and the burning in his throat, which was swollen and raw from screaming at Antonio. He sat down next to the bucket and held his face again.

He had screamed at Antonio. Awful things.

Antonio was a bastard. Truly. But Lovino didn't hope he died. Did he?

No. He hoped he lived to be an old man. And every day he had to face his own guilt and feel it eating him up from the inside out. Lovino trembled at the thought. It was only a comfort to himself. Antonio didn't feel bad for what he did. He didn't feel bad for making Lovino feel this way. He didn't feel bad for breaking the heart of a Jew. That was all he was, anyway. He should have known that someone like Antonio could never fall for someone like himself. But he didn't.

He had truly believed that the Spaniard cared for him. Jew or not. And he had trusted Antonio. He slammed the bottom of his fist into the cool, stone floor. _That sonofabitch._ _That lying sonofabitch. _He curled up and rested his forehead on his forearms. _Fuck him. Just stop thinking about that bastard. _

He heard a knock on the door. It was loud and demanding. He didn't respond to it, and he really didn't need to, because the door opened regardless. A guard stepped in and motioned him forward.

He started to get up, but stopped. He didn't have to go along with this shit. And he didn't want to. But with one angry look from the guard, he stood. The guard grabbed both of the Italians arms and held them with one hand while re-shutting the door.

He was led up a flight of stairs and out a small wooden door. He looked around. They were in some small room filled with candles and brass crosses and things of that sort. Church decorations, it looked like. But this wasn't where they were stopping, apparently, because the man shoved Lovino roughly towards another door. He expected the man to push him out, but instead, the man opened the door for Lovino and gracefully motioned him in. He squinted at the man and walked through the door.

It wasn't as if he really had anywhere else to go.

A church. They were in a church. He looked down at the seats, then up to where a priest was sitting. It was the same priest from the Auto, and Lovino couldn't help but to tremble at the sight before him.

"Have a seat, please. In the box." It sounded like he had a choice, but he was led to the box by the guard. He sat down hesitantly. He looked out at the few people in the church pews. They all looked somewhat wealthy, and a few dressed a bit like Antonio did. There was one man that looked incredibly different. He had blond hair and blue eyes. It was rare to see a blond in Barcelona. He glared. Something about the man rubbed him the wrong way.

"Lovino Vargas? That is you, correct?"

Lovino looked up at the old man. He simply nodded.

"Alright, Lovino. I am Augustine. Do you know why you're here?" Lovino nearly scoffed. Of course he knew why he was here. But he feigned innocence and said, "No, sir." He guessed that was the right thing to say, because Augustine smiled. "Lovino, my child, you are here so that we may save you from hells eternal fire. All you need to do is confess to me. Have you accepted Him into your heart?"

He had if this man wanted him to. He could be whatever this man wanted. He heard whispering amongst the people sitting in the church pews. One word rang out like a bell, loud and clear, though it was a mere whisper. _Converso. _His eyes widened at the word and a dreamlike memory stirred.

He was sitting in the bakery. He hadn't seen Grandpa Roma in a while. He was staying with one of their close friends. Grandpa Roma had apparently gone to a special market for a few weeks because he really needed a "certain flour". And he had been stupid enough to believe it. And finally, Grandpa Roma was back. After nearly a month. And something was wrong. Something was clearly wrong. Feliciano had been too young to notice, but he himself had noticed. And when they were told to go to bed, he stayed downstairs to listen to Grandpa Roma talk to a few friends who had come over as soon as they found out about Grandpa Roma being back in. He listened to them speak from the staircase.

They had said things about Grandpa Roma being a converso, since he had supposedly converted to Christianity from Judaism. But he said multiple times that it wasn't true, that he had to go along with it for his life. And one more time, one more time and he . . .

Lovino came back to his senses. His eyes widened as he stared at the stained glass window to his left. One more time and he would be killed. They would burn him. And if Lovino was Jewish, so was Grandpa Roma by association. This would be his second offense. And suddenly, Lovino realized why there were people who burned by choice.

Because there were worse things than his own death. Things like the death of the ones he loved.

"Lovino? Have you anything to say?" The old, creeping voice sent chills through his body. He was going to speak. If he didn't, they'd take it as a "yes, I am a Jew". So he parted his lips, not hesitantly at all, and said, "We have nothing to hide. We're Christians."

There were loud whispers from the pews again, and a glint of red in Augustines eyes. "Are you sure, Lovino?" God, this man was frightening.

"Yes, I-" Lovino gasped. "We are! L-Look!" Lovino's fingers slipped down the front of his shirt and searched for the cool metal emblem that had been pressed to his skin for the past week. His heart skipped when he couldn't feel it. Both hands went up and curled around the base of his neck in search for the thin chain. The crucifix was gone. Antonio's crucifix. "My crucifix! B-But I had-"

Augustine smiled. "I'd like Lovino Vargas to be taken back to his room. I will come to speak with him soon."

"But-"

"Dismissed for today." People slowly started filing out of the pews, odd smirks on some of their faces. Lovino scowled at them. They were all bastards.

.

He was back in the room again. The sun was surely up by now, but again, he couldn't tell. He was tired, but wouldn't allow himself to sleep. Not when he knew that old bastard was coming to talk to him. He braced himself, put up a tough front. What else could he do?

He heard the door opening and he sat up on the bed. Augustine shuffled in, his face seemingly neutral. A guard tried to come in behind Augustine, but the old man wouldn't have it. He shut the door before any of the guards could try to squeeze in again. He examined the room with that same dull look, eyes finally resting on the bed where Lovino sat. He smiled very, very faintly.

"Lovino Vargas, how are you?"

Lovino stared up at the man with fire in his eyes. What the fuck? How w_as he?_ He was in some fucking dungeon in some fucking church. He had thrown up three times since he had arrived. How did this idiota think he was doing? He didn't even respond to such a stupid question. He moved his eyes to a spot on the wall and stared, lips pressed into a thin line. The man waited for a response for much longer than he should have waited, but eventually, he said,

"You are Roma's grandson. Roma is a converso, yes? You know this?" Again, Lovino didn't respond. What could he say this time? No? He could try to say no, but that was too big of a lie it seemed. And it would lead to more questions like "how couldn't you know this?" and others like that. And it wouldn't help Grandpa Roma in any way. Or himself, really.

Augustine moved a step closer to Lovino, who stayed at the edge of the bed, as much as he wanted to scoot back against the wall and get away from the wrinkled man jeering at him. The man was no longer smiling. "You know what I think? I think you were trying to defend your grandfather. And it isn't as though I blame you. He is your family. I would have done the same thing. But, Lovino, I am worried for you."

Lovino looked up at this point. He opened his mouth to say something, but decided against it immediately when the man continued on with his speech.

"Because if I find out that you're lying to me about your grandfather, I'll have no choice but to have you punished for your crime against God. And the punishment will be death. I am sorry, but that is what the bull states." His voice sounded apologetic, but his eyes were bright, almost sparkling even. Lovino stared at them, not registering at first what the man said. "W-What?" He was whispering to himself, but Augustine had heard him.

"The punishment for lying about your grandfather will be death. More specifically, the stake. But," the man paused and reached a hand out towards Lovino. It rested on the young man's head, but didn't move once it landed. "-you're not a liar, are you? No, I can see that you're an honest boy. But sadly, not everyone in the room agreed with me. And they even suggested that we use any means necessary to extract the information from you."

Dull shivers ran from his neck down to his knees. He rested his hands on the top of his thighs, trying to control the shaking in every part of his body. "I don't want to have to do that to you." His hand was finally drawn back. "And I won't have to if you can speak to me. Let us talk plainly. Tell me about your grandfathers religious practices. Is he Jewish? Perhaps if you tell me, I'll forget what happened in that room. And so will the rest of the people who were watching. They'll forget that you lied once before telling me the truth. And you'll be able to go back to that bakery of yours. Of course, you may have to pay a small penance to the church. But you'll be free. How does that sound?"

Bitter tears filled Lovino's eyes, but he wouldn't let a single one spill. Not in front of this man. He thought about the bakery. The smell of bread and cinnamon. His own bed with the blanket that his mother had made for him years ago. The bowl of tomatoes they kept on the kitchen table. The warmth of the fireplace. Feliciano's singing. Grandpa Roma's hugs. Dinner every night with those idiotas. Those wonderful, warm idiotas. The ones who loved him even when he did act like an ass and swear profusely. Without them, what would the bakery be? What would home be? It would be nothing.

So he kept his mouth shut, trying not to think about the consequences, though he knew there would be many.

Augustine waited. And waited. And waited. Five minutes must have passed. But Lovino said nothing. Finally, the old man stood and began to shuffle to the door. He gave three knocks and the door was swung open. And he was gone. But not before whispering a few words to the two guards waiting outside.

.

After what felt like hours, the door was opened again. Lovino looked up to see two guards approaching him. He looked around, instinctively wanting to run, but where could he run to? Fighting, though. He could fight? No. No, he couldn't fight these men. They were full grown men. He still looked like he was twelve.

His eyes widened as the side of his head met with the steel handle of one of the guards swords. Everything spun. He thought he was going to vomit again, but it stayed down. It was getting darker. And darker. And somehow he was relaxing.

And finally, after a few seconds, there was mind-numbing darkness.

* * *

><p><em>To Be Continued . . . <em>


	10. Chapter 10

This room was different.

He didn't think it could have gotten any worse, but it had. It had gotten much, much worse. He couldn't lay down in this room. He could sort of curl up into a ball, but that was so painful after an hour or so, and almost wasn't worth the rest it gave him. There was nothing in the cell but a bucket, not unlike the one he had in the last cell. He had been in the cell for a day or so.

He thought so, at least. And this cell had a window. Well, slightly. It was a hole at the very top that was about the same size as his hand. But it was something. The small ray of sunlight that hit the bars of his cell was nice for how awful everything else was. They gave him a hunk of bread and a small cup of water. And that was all. The bread was stale and tasteless. It was just flour and water. Nothing like what Lovino was used to. And the water was swimming with small clumps of dirt and other things he didn't recognize. He hadn't taken a single gulp of the water since he'd been brought to the new cell.

He slid down the wall and looked around. He thought about Feliciano and Grandpa Roma. He still hadn't a clue as to where they were. He was sure that they weren't here at this point. He actually wasn't sure if they were dead or alive, but thinking that made tears well in his eyes, and he'd immediately pushed the thought out.

They were alive. They had to be. They were. Both of them. And maybe they had escaped and plotted his escape, too. And maybe the bastard was helping them, too.

He squirmed at the thought of Antonio. That bastard. He gritted his teeth as he imagined him searching through Barcelona for his next victim. He wasn't sure what made him angrier, either. The fact that there was a poor Jewish youth out there who was being lied to, or the fact that Antonio was out there sharing kisses with someone else.

_But they were all fake. It was a fucking act. You're so fucking pathetic, Lovino._ He muttered to himself, sometimes aloud, sometimes just in his mind.

He'd kill that bastard if he ever saw him again. _Then nobody else can have him and he'll go to hell where he belongs._ Lovino nearly smiled at the thought, but he was interupted by the door opening. He heard footsteps. He prayed they were going to someone elses cell. Anyones cell but his.

And of course, they stopped in front of his cell. There were three men. A short, plump one he'd never seen, and the two guards. He gaped at them while one took his sword out, clenching the handle.

Lovino knew what was going to happen at this point. He shut his eyes and waited for the sword to hit that spot on his temple where it hit before. A wave of darkness soon crashed over him.

.

He opened his eyes and searched the room. This one was much more spacious. Torches were lit and covering the walls in rows. He tried to sit up, but was met with resistance. He looked to the right at his hand and stared at the rope tied around it.

His eyes widened and the blood drained from his face. Small gasps escaped his throat. He kicked his legs, but ropes held down his ankles. With each jerk of his arm or leg, the rope rubbed painfully against his flesh. But he kept moving, kept squirming to get out of this situation. To free himself. He looked up at the ceiling. _I didn't mean what I said about Antonio or any of that, God. I didn't mean anything I've said, or thought, I was just upset, don't let this happen to me. Please help me. Please protect me. _

He pleaded with everything he had, hoping God could hear him from wherever he was in heaven. He was never religious, but he needed someone. He needed help.

Tears slid down his temple and onto the table he was being kept on. It felt like a table, at least. He turned his head away from the ceiling and to the left.

This was a mistake. There were about ten inquisitors sitting in chairs simply watching him. Before he could turn away himself, a rope was placed around his neck, forcing him to face the ceiling once again. The rope was tied tightly to keep his head in place. He could feel his adam's apple pressing against the rope uncomfortably, and he did his best to not swallow.

He heard a man mutter a few words, though he couldn't understand them. They weren't speaking Italian, obviously, but they weren't speaking Spanish either.

Lovino squirmed again, trying hard to break the ropes, though deep down he knew that it was impossible. He felt a hand next to his hip and a cloth taken from his body that he didn't even know was there. He was met with a cool breeze, and tried desperately to free his hands to cover his exposed body, but he gave up after remembering the ropes.

He wished he could have at least kept some of his pride. But they ripped that away when they ripped the cloth off of his body. And any amount of hope he had was going to be taken soon, too. He didn't want to believe it, but it was true. And no amount of believing otherwise would make this situation better. But he would try. He would try to cling to his hope as best as he could.

More murmuring to his left. A few shouts. None in Spanish. There was the sound of water splashing lightly somewhere behind him. He took in a deep breath, stomach clenching, eyes pushing out wet, round tears. He felt a few drops of water on his head, then saw a white cloth held above him. He felt cool fingers part his lips, and he could taste the sour taste of metal as his mouth was pried open. He tried to shut his mouth, but the tool in his mouth wouldn't budge. Something else covered his nose. There was a voice again, though this time it was Spanish.

"Do you have a confession?"

The words played over and over again in his mind. He could confess now and end all of this. He'd just have to tell them about Grandpa Roma, and the torturing would stop before it even began. He'd get his clothes back. And go back to the bakery. He choked back a sob.

Because none of that mattered if Grandpa Roma and Feliciano weren't going to be there.

The man seemed to sense Lovino's decision, and the wet cloth above his head was spread lightly across his face. Lovino couldn't see through the cloth like he thought he would be able to. It was pitch black now. He breathed shakily and wondered what the hell they were doing to him.

He heard footsteps to his right and left, and the cloth was tightened across his face, though he still took in shaky breaths. There was a quiet word. Just one. Latin, he thought. And the cloth was pulled tight against his face, and his breaths stopped. He tried to take in one more, just one, but the air wouldn't come. He heartbeat sped.

Lovino could feel water being poured down into his throat through the cloth. He tried to swallow it all, but he needed to breathe.

He tried to breathe through his nose, but that was worse than trying to breathe through his mouth. He was drowning. The water stung the back of his throat. He wanted to scream out, but he needed breath to scream, so instead, it was gurgling noises and the sound of the table creaking beneath the force of his quick, desperate movements to free himself.

This went on for a couple of minutes. Lovino tugging at his ropes, gasping for the air that didn't seem to exist, and the ten men to his left whispering to each other.

The cloth was removed, though not brought out of his sight. Again, they asked him the question.

"Do you have a confession?"

Lovino cried silently as he sucked in large gushes of air. He couldn't speak. Broken whimpers came from his lips until he caught his breath. He looked at the cloth, nearly breaking, but he couldn't. Not now. He had made it this far. He had to do this for Grandpa Roma and Feli.

_God, please. Make them stop. Please help me. Don't make me suffer anymore. Please. I'll be kind, I'll be good. I will. Send someone to save me, please. That's all I want. Please let Antonio come and save me. Or Grandpa Roma. Or anyone. Save me. _"Save me," he whispered to himself. He looked up at the cloth once more. "N-No. I have no c-confession."

A viscous cycle began. They would pull the cloth tightly across his face, he would suffer, they would lift it, and ask him the question. And every time, he'd say he had no confession. It lasted for what felt like hours. Finally, the cloth was put back in the bucket, and there were murmers from the men in the room.

All of the ropes were untied. His wrists, ankles, and neck were rubbed raw, blistered, and nearly bleeding. They almost felt as bad as his throat, which burned with more intensity than he had felt before. He let out a sigh of relief.

They began to lead him to the door. So he thought. They turned him left before he could leave the room. There was a yell, and two guards were hovering above him, pushing him to the wall, and again there were thick ropes around his wrists. He nearly burst into tears at the sight of the wall in front of him. He just wanted it to be over.

There was a shout behind him, then a loud crack. The sound was enough for Lovino.

"Please! Wait, I-" Lovino trembled. "I'll-" He stopped. He couldn't confess. He had to stay strong for them. If not for himself, for them. "I have no confession."

He bit down on his lip, and before he could think, a sharp pain spread across his back and moved its way down his legs, nearly causing his entire body to give out. He waited for the next one, but it didn't come until about a half minute later.

The cycle continued. The whip broke his skin each time, causing pain to consume his body, bringing loud sobs and screams that cracked his voice until there was no voice left.

He begged to pass out. To stop feeling the pain. To die.

But none of his pleads were enough, and he stayed awake until the very last stroke broke into his already torn skin.*

.

It went on like this for a month. Every other day, Lovino was tortured. But he never confessed. There were a few times where he almost did. He was so close. But he refused. He couldn't bring himself to do it.

They came into his cell in the morning one day, scowls and odd looks on their faces. Lovino didn't look at them anymore. He knew what was going to happen. They would knock him out, lift him, take him to the large room, undress him, and he would undergo all the pain all over again. But this time, they didn't knock him out. They grabbed his arms and dragged him upstairs a ways. They crossed long halls and a few familiar doorways until they stopped at one he remembered as being the door to the cell he stayed in when he first arrived.

He looked at the guards, but they didn't catch his gaze. They opened the door and pushed him inside, slamming the door back shut. Lovino looked around. There was the bed. And the bucket. And the desk with the paper on top.

His knees weakened when he looked at the bed. He hadn't laid on a bed in so long. He covered his mouth and curled up on the bed. It was like laying on a cloud. He didn't even mind that it hurt the cuts in his back. He just wanted to sleep.

.

Lovino had been in the cell for a week. They had given him an egg and a hunk of bread every day to eat. And his water was much cleaner in this room. Though he would have drank anything at this point. Anything to soothe his still burning throat.

He leaned against the wall and gently touched the blisters on his wrist. They felt terrible, but not as bad as they had a week ago. He shut his eyes and listened to the faint screams coming from somewhere below him.

"Lovino Vargas. Stand up."

Lovino glanced at the door. A guard was standing there, a weird look on his face. Lovino didn't attempt to glare. He stood as he was told to and didn't ask why. The guard nodded to someone behind him and left the room. The dull sound of boots hitting the stone floor echoed in Lovino's ears. It wasn't the guards boots. No, these were much sharper. Much more demanding.

They stopped at Lovino's doorway. And all he stared at were those boots. They were black, leather boots, going up to just below the knee. And there was a coat. A dark red one. And the . . . the . . .

"You fucking bastard," Lovino said in a low growl. "What the fuck are you doing here? GET OUT! GET THE HELL OUT!" Lovino was relentless, swinging punches left and right at the Spaniard, though none of it seemed to effect him. He merely grabbed Lovino's wrists and pushed him onto the bed, trying hard to be gentle before slamming the door shut.

"I FUCKING HATE YOU!"

"Lovino, please-"

"FUCK YOU!"

"Lovino, listen-"

"NO! GO TO HELL!"

"Please, just-"

A broken cry escaped Lovino's throat. "I fucking hate you! You're a fucking piece of shit!" Tears streamed down his red face. Antonio's heart sank. If Lovino would just listen for one second.

"Lovino, I'd just like to talk to you for a moment. Please. I'll sit here." He sat at the desk. "And you can sit on the bed. You haven't talked to anyone in so long. I thought you'd like to." God, he wished he could just hold Lovino and tell him how sorry he was that any of this happened.

Lovino stood, mouth agape, not moving. "No," he choked out. "I don't want to talk."

Antonio knew it would be like this. He walked over to Lovino and rested a hand on the Italians shoulder. Lovino flinched and leaned away from the touch. Antonio's eyebrows furrowed. "I'm not going to hurt you, Lovino. Please, just sit down." Tears escaped Lovino's eyes as he looked at the bed before finally giving in and sitting down.

"I don't know you won't hurt me. All you've done is lie. You're a fucking liar. You'd probably have hit me if I didn't sit down." Antonio's lips parted as he looked at the blisters on Lovino's wrists and neck. He gulped and tried to look away.

"Lovino, I have questions to ask you." Antonio took out a piece of lead and took a few pieces of parchment paper from his pocket."First, Lovino, how are you?"

Lovino watched as Antonio scribbled something quickly on the piece of paper and held it out to him. He read: _Lovino, they're listening. Be careful as to what you say, querido. I have so much to tell you. But I can't say it aloud. _Lovino looked up at Antonio, then looked at the word 'querido'. He wanted to believe that word. But he couldn't. He gave the note back to the bastard and nodded in understanding. "How do you think I am, bastard? You put me in this shithole. I'm shit. And what is it like out there? Seducing another Jewish boy? Getting him to fall in love with you? Raising him up so that you can knock him back down?"

The words hurt. But Antonio couldn't blame Lovino. He had lied to him. And he deserved all the harsh words Lovino had for him. "Lovino, your grandfather is Jewish. Why won't you admit that? All of this would be over if you would just tell them." He wrote and passed the paper back to Lovino, who read it quickly.

_This whole thing started off as part of my job. But the minute I saw you, I knew there was something special about you. Something beautiful. And I was right. I knew I wouldn't be able to turn you in or your family. And I didn't. I don't know who turned you in. Believe me or don't. But I'm telling the truth. _

"My grandfather doesn't practice Judaism. I've already told you!" This time, Lovino leaned over and took the piece of lead from Antonio. He scribbled, his handwriting messy.

_ You've hurt me, bastard. How am I supposed to trust you? _

Antonio read the words and looked up. "Take a moment to truly consider confessing, Lovino." The Spaniard stood and sat on the bed beside Lovino. "Bastard. I'm not going to confess to something that isn't true. Fuck you." Antonio's arm wrapped around Lovino's waist.

Lovino froze. He could feel Antonio's soft lips pressed to the shell of his ear. "Te amo, Lovi. Do you know why I came to see you?" He whispered, keeping his voice as low as possible. "Hold on, Lovino. I'm going to make a slapping noise. Make a noise like I hit you. Alright? Please cooperate." Antonio slapped his own arm, creating a nice noise, and Lovino let out a fake cry.

Antonio leaned in and whispered again. "I'm here to save you, Lovi. And Roma. And Feliciano. I have a faint idea of how, but I haven't worked out the details quite yet. So you will have to stay a while longer. And I am so sorry for that. I'm ashamed of what I've done to you. And your family. And even if you never forgive me, I want you to be free. I want you to see Italy again like you've always wanted. Even if I can't be a part of your life anymore. I want you to be happy. That is all I-" Antonio stopped when he felt Lovino crawl into his lap and wrap his arms around his neck.

Lovino's body shook with sobs. He buried his face into Antonio's shoulder, inhaling the bittersweet aroma clinging to the red coat. "I want to hate you so badly. I wanted to kill you so you could burn in hell. And I'm sorry for thinking those things. I'm so pathetic, too. This is probably all an act but I . . . I want to be held, okay, bastard? I want you to hold me for a second. And I can pretend everything is okay again. Just for a few minutes. And I'll continue with this fake dialogue where you pretend to ask me questions and smack me around. But I want you to pretend something for me. Pretend like you, uh, p-pretend like you love me. Okay?" He rested his head on Antonio's chest and shut his eyes. "And you're still an asshole."

Antonio smiled and ran his fingers through Lovino's hair. "I do love you, mi amor," he whispered before continuing the fake argument. They sat together like this until there was a knock on the door, signaling Antonio to leave.

* * *

><p><em>To Be Continued . . . <em>

* * *

><p><strong>*Let me tell you why this is blatantly historically inaccurate. The Church was specifically not allowed to draw blood or mutilate prisoners. But I wrote lashes in anyways because they did actually give out lashes at Auto-De-Fe's, because the line between state and church was basically non-existent. They definitely could have illegally given out lashes, too, though it would have been rare. <strong>

**The first torture portrayed is something they actually did, though. **


	11. Chapter 11

**I really need some feedback, guys! **

**I'm starting a new fic sometime in January and I want to hear your thoughts on it. I'd like to do a Rochu fic and it will be based on a true story and actual events, but in a different way. This will be based on a personal story. I know the basics of the story and I even know the title. I've known the title for three months. That is how long I've wanted to write this but I knew that if I started that one I would abandon this one. The fic is set in 90's-present day. I may change that though.**

**Anyways, ****I've finished writing this story! So this story WILL be completed sometime in March. **

**I'm open to suggestions for my next fic, too. Thank you!**

* * *

><p>"Stop asking to more food!"<p>

God, he was relentless. He had asked for more food every time he was given his portions. And every day, he was met with the same answer. No. No more food.

And he wasn't an idiot. That was very clear from what had happened a month ago when they had first come to take in the Vargas family. There was something intelligent about the boy, he just didn't show it. And maybe that was part of it, too. He acted stupid to be doubted.

But he wouldn't do that. He hadn't once doubted the boy.

"What is your name?" The boy pushed his hand against the metal bars and looked up. His eyes were very bright, though the light was dim. The taller man didn't know what to say. He didn't want to talk to him. He really wasn't one to talk. But those eyes were pulling him in.

"Ludwig," he said. He brushed his hair away from his face and gripped his sword. The boys face brightened and he slid down the bars of his cell. His legs crossed and he rocked back and forth slightly. "You keep calling me Klein, but that isn't my name. I thought you'd want to know it since you see me every single day," the boy said.

Ludwig looked away in forced disgust. "I do not care to your name." In all actuality, he hadn't thought about this boy having a name. He heard a soft sigh behind him and felt a hand on his shoulder.

In one quick motion, he was grasping the boys shirt and pulling him up towards the bars, forcing the boys dark brown eyes to meet his own blue ones.

He opened his mouth to speak, but words wouldn't come. It wasn't that something had taken his breath away. It was just that he had never had to face anyone like this. Nobody would dare touch him under any circumstances. He observed this boy. He watched those eyes, searching for signs of something that wasn't there. Some sort of evil or corruption.

Ludwig grasped the shirt tighter, lifting the boy up just slightly so he had to stand on his tiptoes. "Do not touch again." The boys eyes widened. "And do not look this way like you deserve pity. You . . . you are filth. And I know this is an act. You are not clever as you think."

The boy squirmed and grasped at Ludwigs hands, digging into the rough flesh with what little nails he had. He made small noises in the back of his throat as he tried to push away. Tears brimmed in his eyes as the hand on his shirt made its way up to his neck.

"I am now asking your name?" Ludwig curled his fingers around the boys neck, raising his eyebrows when he saw that his fingers and his thumb nearly touched. The boy shut his eyes and said, "Feliciano. It's Feliciano. Please don't kill me."

Feliciano? His name was Feliciano? That was an interesting name. Different than any of the names he had heard in Germany. He let go of Feliciano and scooted away from the bars to avoid being touched again. "I am not killing you. That is not my place. You do have a trial today. And it is their choice if you live and leave today.

Feliciano sank to the floor again and buried his face in his arms. He didn't want to die. He would do anything to live. He wanted to see Grandpa Roma and Lovi again. He missed them so much. He had a general idea where Grandpa Roma was, but it wasn't clear where Lovino had been taken if he had even been taken at all. Hopefully he was still in Barcelona.

He smiled as he daydreamed about seeing them again. A bubbly giggle escaped his lips and he covered his mouth to muffle it. But Ludwig had noticed. He examined the boy with that same disgusted look. "Why do you laugh?"

Feliciano stopped and looked away quickly. He bit his lip and tried to forget the cold eyes that were watching him. It was as if he was keeping some little secret that Ludwig was too daft to know about. The German stood and took out the keys to Feliciano's cell, opening the door with a loud creak. He took one step in and lifted the boy up again. Tears threatened to spill from Feliciano's eyes.

Ludwig glared at Feliciano and tightened his grip on the already crinkled shirt. "Damn you. You . . . you . . . ugh." Ludwig dropped Feliciano to the floor and pressed a boot to the boys chest. "It is not fair." He tried to sound angry, but something about his words was melancholy. "Someone like you gets to smile. There is everything happening, and you are as happy as you please. I do what I am supposed to. I do what God would want. You are filth. What gives you the right to smile? To laugh? I am angry hearing that laugh every day." Ludwig lifted Feliciano up by his neck again. "If I hear it more, then I . . . I . . ." He paused and Feliciano watched his eyes as he tried to pull out of the strong grip.

"Are you s-saying that you a-aren't ha-happy, Ludwig?"

A hard smack. Not a punch. But an open-palmed slap across his already flushed cheek. Feliciano let out a quiet _ouch _as the tears travelled in crooked paths down his face. Ludwig released him and left his cell, locking it quickly behind him. He looked pained by the entire situation. He didn't mean for it to go that way, but Feliciano had seen right through him. He didn't know what to do.

He pushed the keys in his pocket and opened the door to go upstairs. He tried to shove the sound of those cries out of his mind, but he couldn't. He grit his teeth and looked back at the cell. "Feliciano . . . "

There was a stifled cry followed by a, "yes?"

Ludwig rubbed the back of his neck. "If you have to come back after the trial, I will have them give more food for now on."

.

Feliciano looked around the room, then down at the box. Not many people were at the trial. Just a few in the church pews who all sort of reminded him of Antonio. He wondered what happened to the man. He hoped he hadn't been taken in. And if he did, he hoped he had been taken in with Lovino. He didn't want to think of Lovino all alone in a cell.

"Well, Feliciano? What say you? Do you admit that you and your family have been practicing Judaism? And you needn't worry. You will be returned to the bakery if you confess your sins. We do this to help you, you know. We want to save you from hell's fire. And your brother and grandfather as well. You are in no danger, truly. Though you may have to pay a small few fines to the church." The old man smiled, and Feliciano looked down again.

He inwardly smiled at the thought of the bakery and the life he could resume.

.

Ludwig watched the boy. _Lie. Lie, Feliciano. _He leaned forward in his seat and watched the boy. A few colourful rays of light from the stained-glass window shone on him, making him look pure and radiant. Ludwigs eyebrows furrowed and he looked down at his shoes. The Italian unfuriated him often. But when he didn't, there was something great about him.

"He's going to tell the truth, you know."

Ludwig turned to see someone beside him. They were looking down, though, and the face wasn't clear. It wasn't as if he had been in Barcelona for long, either. Definitely not long enough to recognize this face. He squinted and crossed his arms. "How do you know this?"

The man sighed. "I just know. And I'm very good at reading people. Why would you want this Jew to lie?" Ludwig flinched and grit his teeth. Who was this man? He scooted away slightly.

"I was not thinking that." He didn't know what else to say. But he wasn't going to confess to thinking that. The man let out a chuckle and leaned back. The chuckle sounded very forced and amost sad.

"But you were. And I want to know why."

Ludwig sighed and turned to the man finally. "Because," he gulped and his mouth felt dry. "Because he does not deserve death."

"Oh, that isn't true. Every Jew deserves to die."

"But not him, I feel. There is something I see in him."

"Yes? So you feel something for him?"

The colour drained from Ludwigs face. "Das ist nicht was ich sagte! Verdammt! Wer bist d-"

"Enough. Why do you care if he lives?"

Ludwig looked up at Feliciano and grimaced. Why did he care? He wasn't sure if he even knew why the boy deserved to live.

"I am doing this job for the world. For God's world. That boy is very happy. No, he is happiness. This seems awful, I know. But I think God sent him down to bring happiness. He is not harsh to me. He is kind, and I do not understand. Very kind and happy but how? Look where he is. He might die. I heard him laughing besides this. I do not understand."

The man frowned. "He won't die if he confesses. They'll charge him. They'll probably take his entire families money. But he'll live. What will you do without him, anyway? You've been watching him for about six weeks now. Do you wish to see him again?"

Ludwig nearly smiled at that, though it would have been a bitter smile. "No. He will not want to see me." Why was he telling a stranger this? He had no idea who this man was. But he felt like he could trust him, so he (stupidly) continued talking. "I was horrible. I _am_ horrible. I feel angry and take it out on him. He does not deserve this, I know. I want to not feel anger. I want to not hurt him. It has been pushed into me, the things I know about Jews. I try to forget now, but it is hard. And then there is hell." Ludwig studied the cross at the alter in the catherdral. "I am confused. I do not want to go there. I want to live peaceful when I die. In heaven. But can I go to heaven if I care for the boy? If I came to love him?"

The man simply nodded in understanding. Ludwig continued.

"I think that is why I am horrible to him. To convince myself. But then, I think God would never forgive me for bad things happening to him. Bad things to one so kind and pure. He is one of the few angels sent down to Earth. He must be. I do not think God would forgive me for letting something bad happen to one of His angels. I am trying." Ludwigs voice was straining now. "I think he could make me happy. But I am horrible for him."

"Would you do anything to help him? Anything to make him happy?"

Ludwig glared at the man again, but finally nodded curtly. The man smiled faintly and said, "I think you and I need to talk later."

.

Feliciano looked down at his shoes, then at the priest. "Y-Yes," he said quietly. "I confess. I am guilty, and I am sorry." The last part was a lie, of course, but it sounded good, so Feliciano added it in.

The priest smiled and nodded at Feliciano. "Thank you, my child," he said.

Feliciano was given his freedom within the hour.

.

Lovino looked up at the catherdral. It looked as it had before, but there were more people sitting in the pews. He scanned the seats until his eyes stopped on one face.

Antonio. Antonio was here for his second trial. He gulped as he sat down. Who was that next to Antonio? It was the same blond with blue eyes. He squinted at him, then looked at Antonio again, who was looking back. He had a reassuring smile on his lips and his green eyes sparkled in the light of a candle on the wall.

Lovino wished he could give a tiny smile back, but that was difficult for him on a good day. So he gave a quick nod before he heard a door slam. He glared. That damn priest. He looked at the ground. He could hear some kind of rattling. Rattling metal of some sort. It was a chilling sound, too. Lovino's eyes flickered up.

A grin spread across his cheeks and he nearly jumped up.

"Grandpa Roma! Mi sei mancato! Ho pensato che non avrei visto di nuovo!" He stifled a cry. "Ti amo! Non potro mai las-"

"Mio Lovi!" Grandpa Roma pulled on his chains, which were held by three large men who struggled to keep the older man away from Lovino. Lovino let out a gasp at the sight of his grandfather being restrained by the guards. He looked desperately to Antonio, though he knew he could do nothing about this.

They sat Grandpa Roma in a corner and he no longer fought. He did as he was told for now. He looked very different from the Grandpa Roma Lovino remembered. His eye was swollen, his forearm's had large bruises, and his neck and wrists had the burns and cuts that Lovino's did. He was skinnier, too. Lovino looked down at his own body. Was he skinnier? He looked up at Antonio and could see him nodding. How was that bastard so good at reading minds?

"Lovino Vargas. Roma Vargas. I am giving you a second chance to confess. Each of you. Do you practice Judaism, Roma Vargas?" It was that goddamn priest. Lovino looked away, anger consuming him.

Roma looked away as Lovino did before answering, "No. I am not Jewish. I was. But I am not anymore." There were a few sighs and gasps from the crowd, as there always were. Augustine's eyes were gleaming red. "Roma Vargas, are you sure?"

Roma nodded.

"So be it. Lovino Vargas, does your family continue to practice Judaism?" God, he hated the mans voice. He grit his teeth and looked away from those eyes before saying, "No. And there is no need to ask if I am sure of my answer. I know I'm sure."

Augustine's lips twitched at the comment and he looked out at the people in the crowds. Antonio's eyes were shining, but not in the way they were before. They were glossy and had lost the light they held. Lovino's eyes widened as he wondered what was wrong. Antonio shook his head slightly and gave Lovino the same reassuring smile, but it faltered when he took in a visibly shaky breath.

"Lovino Vargas. Roma Vargas," Augustine began quietly, "You are both guilty of heresy. Feliciano Vargas has denounced you both as well as himself. He is free to go, though he will be paying a large sum for his crimes. As for you both." Augustine's eyes flashed red again. "You knew the punishment for your crimes. You are both sentenced to burn at the stake in three months. May God have mercy on your souls and may you spend this time repenting. Dismissed."

Lovino stared up at the priest, his eyes wide and his mouth open. The priest walked out, but he was still staring at the same spot. The words rang out again and again in his head. _Sentenced to burn at the stake. Sentenced to burn. Sentenced to burn. To burn at the stake. To burn._

Lovino thought he would feel tears, thought he would cry out, but he made no movements and made no sounds. His eyelids fluttered and the entire room seemed silent, though he could tell Grandpa Roma was yelling from the way his mouth moved. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, and the vision of his grandfather breaking away from the guards and moving towards him became blurry. He heard a few words that echoed.

_Not . . . Lovi . . . you can't . . . please . . . but . . . just me . . ._

His breath felt deeper and more ragged than before, and for a second he thought he might be dying. He felt hands on his cheeks. Warm, calloused hands. He looked up at Grandpa Roma and the world stopped.

Time froze.

And here, in this frame, it was just Grandpa Roma and Lovino. Lovino patted Grandpa Roma's hand and leaned into the touch. "Ti amo, Grandpa Roma. I love you so much. And I'm glad I got to see you before I go." His vision was blurry again and he felt tears covering his cheeks. Grandpa Roma let one single tear escape, but no more. He wiped away a few of Lovino's tears with his thumb, leaned in, and kissed his grandson on the forehead.

"Ti amo, Lovi, my beautiful figlio. I'm so proud of you. Forgive your brother, too, eh?" Grandpa Roma forced a smile. "He was only trying to do what was best. At least he is safe. And soon, we'll all meet again. Back in Italy." Lovino choked on a sob and flung his arms around his grandfather. Grandpa Roma patted Lovino's back gently as he left a warm kiss on the top of his head.

"Tell me about it, p-please. Tell me about Italy," Lovino said. He shut his eyes and buried his face into Grandpa Roma's shoulder. He could hear his grandfather force a chuckle. "Well, when we go back soon, we're going to find our cottage. The one next to the field of yellow flowers. With the humming bees. We're going to go up to the cottage door and we're going to almost knock, but we see something in the window. I'll nudge you to move closer, and guess what it is, Lovi?" Grandpa Roma had a sloppy grin on his face. "Just guess!"

Lovino wiped his tears with the back of his hand. "I don't know. What is it?"

"It's a pie! A lemon pie. One that your grandmother cooked. And guess what we'll do next? We'll take the pie. The entire thing! And we'll go sit in the fields and we'll eat it all by ourselves. And then your grandmother comes and finds me and she goes, 'Merry, what do you think you're doing? Ho sposato uno sciocco!' And then she slaps me on the head and tells me she loves me anyways, then she takes your hand and you know what she does with you?"

Lovino grinned through his tear-filled eyes. "What does she do?"

"She takes you back in the house and feeds you more pie, muttering things about you being too skinny. And she'll have a bowl full of fresh tomatoes, too, picked from the back where we keep the tomato plants. And then . . . wait, what was that?"

Lovino laughed faintly and rested his cheek on Grandpa Roma's chest. "What is it?"

Grandpa Roma's eyes were glossy once more, but a smile brighter than the stars shone on his face. "There's a knock on the door. It just swings open, and guess who's home from the market? Your mother! And then she'll smile that bright smile of hers and she'll hug you like she did when you were younger, figlio. And she'll let you use her paints. The nice ones. And her nice brushes, too, if you're careful. Then I go out and get you a few boards to paint on. And for the rest of the day, you and your mother sit in the field and paint all the beautiful things you see. The whole day. And what are we having for dinner, Lovi?"

Lovino beamed at his grandfather. "Pasta. A big bowl of noodles with tomato sauce and wonderful spices. And wine. Wine we made ourselves. And you baked bread and some sort of cake."

Grandpa Roma shut his eyes and patted Lovino's head gently. "And who are you inviting over for dinner? I invite some of my friends here, of course. They'd like to see Italy."

Lovino smiled, though he was crying again. "I think I'll invite that bastard Antonio."

"And we have a great time. We're all happy and drunk by the end, but we don't get sick from it. We just eat and drink as much as we want and we don't gain a pound. But for some reason, your grandmother is still concerned about our health." They both laughed and Lovino sniffled.

"And the next day, figlio. Guess what happens when we wake up in the morning?" Grandpa Roma grinned and pulled Lovino into a crushing embrace, which Lovino gladly welcomed.

Tears covered Grandpa Roma's shoulder as Lovino tried to catch his breath. His smile still hadn't faded. Roma leaned in closely and whispered,

"We do it all over again."

Lovino's smile shook and he let out a broken sob as the world came crashing back down around him. There was the sound of metal hitting metal, something breaking, and a body hitting the floor.

Time was running again.

Lovino looked down at Grandpa Roma, who was on the floor unconcious from a blow to the head from one of the guards. Lovino felt himself being lifted up, but he didn't care anymore. He didn't want to fight. He didn't want to argue or pull away. He just wanted to dream again. He wanted to spend the next three months dreaming of Italy.

And before he knew it, soon, he'd be there.

* * *

><p><em>To Be Continued . . . <em>

* * *

><p><strong><em>Merry Christmas and Happy Hanukkah! <em>**


	12. Chapter 12

Three months later:

Lovino looked down at the robe he had been given. It was black with odd strips of orange fabric sewn to the bottom. It was so ridiculous looking, but he supposed that was what they were going for.

"The hat, too, cerdo," growled a guard behind him. Lovino let out a heavy breath and picked up the pointed hat. He traced the tip of it, then rested it on his head. It was too big for him, too, as if he didn't look pathetic enough. He must have looked like a goddamn clown, because the guard was laughing at him.

Lovino looked away. It could be worse, he guessed. At least they hadn't tortured him for three months. But they'd forced him back down to his old cell with the small window, which was now sealed off, and the rats, burnt bread, and filthy water. He wasn't sure how he stayed sane, either. It was constantly dark and dank. He barely got any sleep for all he could hear when he finally shut his eyes was screaming from another room in the large building.

But when it was truly silent, he would take a few minutes to lean against the wall, shut his eyes, and dream of Italy. Of Grandpa Roma and his mother and Feli. And Antonio, too. And his grandmother who he hadn't seen in so many years. He'd enter that painting he had seen at the Gallery with Antonio. These dreams made him relax. But they never lasted for more than five minutes at a time.

"Come on, cerdo." Lovino felt a hand on his shoulder and he was pushed out into the hall. He stared up at the large, bright windows, though the sunlight burned his eyes and he nearly winced. The guard led him to the large oak doors in the front. They were propped open and all Lovino could smell was the fresh, sweet air.

Reality came crashing down on him when he was ushered into a large cart with two other people. "Grandpa Roma! Grandpa R-" The two men looked up at him. They weren't Grandpa Roma. He looked back at the doors to the cathedral as they were shut. Lovino's breath quickened. "Where is Roma Vargas? I, ngh, please!" Lovino grabbed the shoulder of one of the guards.

A fist swung and hit him in the cheek, the force pushing him to the floor of the cart. He gasped for air through his grit teeth. "Please!"

He was grabbed again by some short guard to his left. "Why don't you open that pretty little mouth for me?" He said in a scratchy voice. Lovino's jaw clenched and he shook his head. The man smiled, grabbed Lovino's wrist, and twisted it in one quick motion. There was a resounding crack and a loud scream from Lovino. The man wasted no time shoving a rag into Lovino's mouth and tying a dirty cloth around his lips. Tears filled the Italians eyes as he was pushed down to his knees.

"You be good, niño, and I won't have to do that again," the man said. Lovino took in shallow breaths as the cart began to move. He could feel the eyes of the other two men on him. He looked away, not wanting to meet their gaze.

"There was a man named Roma beside me. His cell was next to mine. He was very tall and strong, yes. You said he was your grandfather?"

Lovino looked up at the man. He was balding and had a long beard. His eyes were clouded by cataracts, but he must have been able to see somewhat, because he was looking right at Lovino. The Italian nodded.

"You must be Lovino."

Lovino nodded.

"He was a very kind man. He spoke about you often. Many things. About how you liked art and music. He said you used to enjoy painting, but you hadn't painted in a very long time. He was a very joyful man. Or I suppose he _is _a joyful man. He was in his cell before I left mine."

Lovino scooted closer to the man, trying to ask him why his grandfather wasn't going to the Auto with him.

The man seemed to catch on. "I don't know, Lovino, why he isn't coming with us today. I wish I had an answer. But I don't. Perhaps they really want to make an example of him and it'll humanize him to be shown with his grandson. God forbid a human be seen as a human, right?" The man let out a weak chuckle.

Lovino felt large, watery tears sliding down the sides of his nose. His body shook with each new set of tears. There was a sort of sigh and he saw the man scoot closer to him.

"You like Italy, right? Roma seemed to think you really did. Let's talk about Italy."

.

People walked along side the cart, jeering and yelling out nasty insults. Some people threw things at them. The little children ran with the wheels and threw stones, giggling when they hit one of the prisoners, pouting when they missed. A few rotten fruits and vegetables were tossed at them, but not too many, and many people missed.

"You know, this wouldn't be so bad if the vegetables weren't rotten and they were aiming for my mouth," the man with the cataracts said. Lovino forced a chuckle through his constantly running tears.

Lovino couldn't recognize anyone in the crowd, though it seemed like a few people recognized him. Customers, maybe, who paled at the sight of him riding in the cart, wearing the odd black robe.

The ride was long and miserable. Nothing had made him feel lower than the ride to the Auto. Everyone looked at him like he was some rat they had caught in their kitchen. Something to be disposed of. He was glad when he was shoved out of cart and pushed along the dirt path.

He looked down as he followed the two other men up the steps to the platform in front of him, now adorn with flags and banners, crucifixes and stakes. Lovino stifled a cry as the gag on his mouth was removed and he was pushed into a cage of some sort. "Please . . . " He looked up at the blue sky. "Please, God. I don't want to d-die. I'm not ready. I'm not ready. I'm not r-r-" Lovino's shoulders shook and his small frame weakened. He whispered into his hand, "I don't want to die. I want to feel what it's like to be loved and I want to grow old just like Grandpa Roma."

Lovino pressed his small hands together, letting out a gasp at the mind-numbing pain he felt in his wrist. He dropped to his knees and looked down. "Please, God. I'm not ready. I'm n-not r-ready for this." Lovino wiped his nose on his forearm and stood up again. The man next to him smiled faintly.

"Do you feel better, Lovino? It's always good to pray before something like this. But perhaps the afterlife is better than this one. In heaven. There is no need to be frightened," the man said.

.

The mass was quick. Too quick. The cage was opened and the two men were taken out one at a time and tied to their stakes. Lovino was dragged to his. He heard the priest yell something in latin and there were noises from the steps behind the platform as two men came up behind Lovino. There was another Latin sentence and he felt rope pressed to the front and sides of his neck.

"Please . . . " he begged to himself. He felt rope around his chest, then around his arms. He trembled, tears still running down his face. A rope was tied around his thighs, shins, and feet. He tried to catch his breath and slow down his heartbeat, but it was no use. He let out a blood curdling scream and tried to pull at the ropes, but an arm snaked around his stomach, stopping him from moving, while a gloved hand was pressed to his lips, keeping him silent. His hands were finally tied behind him and wood was stacked up to his hips.

Lovino screamed at the feeling of the firewood around his legs. "AIUTAMI! QUALCUNO! DIO, AIUT-" His screams were muffled again by that hand. He felt warm breath on his ear, draining the blood from his face.

"If you move one more time, cerdo, I'll kill you myself," the man said. Lovino let out a cry through his clenched teeth at the sickening sound of the new voice. The priests voice was bad, but this one was worse, as if the words themselves could slice him open. The man was spitting venom. Lovino decided that the voice reminded him of how he imagined satan himself would sound.

And that arm was still wrapped around his waist. He stopped moving, if only to get the man to remove his arm.

"Lovino Vargas, this is your last chance. Repent."

That old, scratchy voice. Augustine. Lovino looked up through teary eyes at the bronze cross in the mans hand.

If he kissed it, his death would be swift and painless. He was going to die either way, right? And then he thought of Italy. Of heaven. Of Grandpa Roma. And Feliciano. And Antonio. They would all meet again someday. And maybe it would just seem like a day had passed. It was heaven, right? Good things happened in heaven. So maybe he'd get there and they would already be up there waiting for him, so he wouldn't be alone afterall.

And even if none of them were there, his mother would be there. And his grandmother. He gulped and pressed his quivering lips together. He craned his neck and shut his eyes. He waited for the cool, salty metal to touch his lips. He could smell the potent coppery smell.

There was a gush of air and he opened his eyes. The cross was pulled back against Augustine's chest, just out of Lovino's reach, and he was smiling a crooked smile. His eyes were blazing as he said, "Lovino Vargas has not repented." There was a chorus of gasps from the crowd, along with some boos and excited murmurs.

"This," said Augustine as he waved a large torch dangerously close to Lovino's face, "is what is waiting for you in hell. May God have mercy on your soul." With that, the torch was dropped. Lovino watched in horror as the fire poked up through cracks in the piece of wood it was dropped under. The smoke had already begun to burn his eyes and nostrils.

There was a tightness from the rope around his neck, then a sudden moment where it felt as if the rope had gone slack. He twisted his head around, only to have it slapped back into place by the man behind him. That horrible voice murmured something in Latin and the rope was being retied around his neck.

His leg was getting warm. The smoke was too much to bare and he stopped breathing. The fire was spreading, slowly but surely. The man working on the rope around his neck pryed at the knot on the side. It was a thick, uncomfortable knot that dug painfully into a sensitive spot on his neck.

The fire was heating his thighs now, though not burning yet. Lovino held back whatever tears he had left as he heard the whispered prayers of the man burning next to him. He tried to follow them. To focus on those words. But his whole body shook and that knot in the rope was hitting . . .

He let out a cry as the rope was pulled tighter even still. There was an odd pressure over the knot as if someone was trying to bury it into his neck. His vision blurred and his heart beat in his ears.

"No. No! Wh-"

The rope was pulled tighter. "Don't speak again," the voice said. Lovino opened his mouth to say something, but nothing would come. He could only focus on his heart beat and the way the world was spinning around him, going black and splotchy. His neck hung to the left. He felt a drop of drool creeping out of the corner of his mouth.

And that knot. That knot that was clearly killing him like he'd wanted. Suffocating him so he didn't have to burn. He wanted to welcome this death, but fear was overriding everything else in his mind.

His vision went black, though he could still hear distant murmurs in the background. It felt almost . . . nice, now. Peaceful. He was still afraid, of course, but it was his time. This was his fate, the one always waiting for him since the day he'd been born.

It was never supposed to work out when they decided to come to Spain. He was never supposed to go back to Italy. He was never supposed to be saved by Antonio. They would never see each other again. That was written out.

And suddenly, as his hearing faded, he decided he was grateful for everything. The chance to live at all. The chance to have lived in Italy. The chance to run a bakery with the people he loved most. The chance to meet Antonio. The chance to feel love, if even in it's briefest moment, was more than he deserved from such a bittersweet world.

He was grateful for the inevitability of death, for without death, there could be no life, and without life, there could be no death, and this was the mosaic of the world itself.

The smell of burning wood was the last thing he sensed before there was absolutely nothing.

* * *

><p>To Be Continued . . .<p> 


	13. Chapter 13

Antonio lifted a wide-eyed Lovino out of the river and sat him on the grass. Lovino scanned the area and let out a sharp scream.

"WHERE THE FUCK AM I? WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING? AM I DEAD?" Low wails escaped Lovino's tightening throat. "It's fucking freezing out here! And why are my clothes wet? And my fucking wrist _really _hurts." He noticed Antonio. "WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING, BASTARD? DON'T JUST FUCKING STAND THERE, DAMMIT!"

"Lovi, calm down. It was the only thing that would wake you up."

"DUNKING ME IN A RIVER? AND I'M CALM AS FUCK."

"You can't keep yelling. I don't know how close we are to anyone here. You have to be quieter, mi querido. Just breathe and I'll tell you what happened," Antonio said. Lovino shivered and looked up at Antonio, who took in a deep breath before saying,

"I didn't tie your ropes well on purpose. Then I pressed a spot on your neck. You passed out. I think you might have thought you were dying. Once you were out, I cut your ropes and pulled you off. That took about ten seconds. Maybe a little more. Maybe fifteen. And I had a few friends on my side helping me. I had my horse waiting for me at the bottom of the platforms. I hopped on and bolted. I'm leaving out a great deal of detail, of course. I really don't want to talk about it. But we're out. And that's what really matters. You're safe, Lovi. You're alive." A grin spread across the Spaniards face. But Lovino looked down.

"What about my grandfather?"

Antonio's grin didn't falter. "We got him out."

Lovino's eyes widened and he shot up. "There is no way." Antonio raised an eyebrow and laughed his cheerful laugh. Lovino smiled and jumped onto Antonio, knocking him down into the dew covered grass. "How'd you do it? It must have been tricky." Lovino brushed his fingers through Antonio's hair gently. Antonio was silent and his smile faded.

"I really do not feel like talking about how I saved you both. I did some questionable things that I wouldn't like you to question," Antonio said. Lovino nodded and blinked back a few tears, which Antonio didn't understand. "Why do you look so upset, Lovi?"

Lovino shook his head. "It's nothing. Just my fucking wrist. One of the guards bent it back and I think it's broken." Antonio picked up Lovino's hand and examined it. He ran his fingertips over the bone until he reached one part that was sticking out ever so slightly, though the skin wasn't broken.

"It isn't broken. One of your bones has dislocated. I can pop it back into place, but it's going to hurt. I'd ask for your permission, but you don't really have a choice at this point. Please don't be angry with me."

Lovino's breath quickened. "Whatever, bastard, just don't do it so fast. Count to three or something."

"Okay, Lovi. One-"

"Wait, I'm not ready!"

"Here, bite down on this rag. Alright?"

"Whatever. Go."

"One . . . Two . . ."

"Wait a second."

"Lovino Vargas, this is the last time. Got it?"

"Fine. But maybe you could count to five this time?"

"Okay, okay."

"I'm ready."

"One-"

_Crack._

"F-FUCK! That fucking hurt and you didn't even go on five! Fuuuuuck!" Lovino brushed away the tears clinging to his eyelashes.

"I'm only trying to help, Lovino. You would have just pulled away at four. Now it's over and done with." Antonio wrapped his wrist up tightly. "There. Better? Does it need a kiss?"

"Don't mock me, bastard."

"I brought your clothes for you. You should change before you get sick. It must be fifty degrees out here. You could probably change on the other side of the horse. He won't move."

"The horse will stay put?" Lovino looked concerned. Antonio raised an eyebrow and said, "He'll only move if I tell him to move, Lovi." Lovino squinted, murmured something, and stood on the right side of the horse. Antonio flashed a smile and looked up at the stars. He could hear Lovino's soaked clothes plopping into the grass. "The stars look nice tonight, don't they, Lovi?"

Lovino muttered something under his breath. Antonio looked at the horse, then at Lovino, then at the horse again.

_"Adelante!"_

The horses eyes widened and it ran to Antonio, exposing a shocked Lovino in just a shirt that swayed around the top of his thighs. "Dammit! Bastard!" He turned away, exposing his pale thighs and . . .

"You know, Lovi, the stars definitely look nice, but I think the moon looks even better," Antonio said, stifling a laugh. Lovino scowled and pulled down the shirt. "Fuck you, Spaniard."

Antonio's nose scrunched up as he let out a bell-like laugh. "Aw, Lovi, please. You look so lovely in the moonlight." Antonio made his way over to Lovino, while Lovino, on the other hand, started walking quickly in the other direction.

Antonio pouted. "Fine. I respect what you want. Finish dressing and try to rest. We have to leave early tomorrow morning. We're meeting your grandfather in a village a few hours from here." Lovino smiled before he realized what he was doing and said,

"Grandpa Roma? We're meeting him tomorrow? I can't believe . . . " He trailed off when he noticed the bastard eyeing him. He scowled. "I mean, It'll be great seeing him. Yeah. Shut up, bastard."

Antonio grinned. "Alright. I see, I see. I'm going to try to rest, Lovi. Goodnight."

Lovino huffed and turned to his clothes again.

.

Antonio felt hands on his shoulders, shaking him awake. He looked up. It was still night. They didn't have to leave for a couple of hours. He looked to his right to see Lovino hovering over him. He was completely wrapped up in a thick blanket.

"Bastard! Hey, bastard!" He was trying to whisper, but he was a terrible whisperer and it just sounded loud and raspy. Antonio groaned and covered his ears with his hands. "Lovinooooo why are you up?"

Lovino lifted the corner of Antonio's blanket. "Bastard, scoot over." Antonio sighed and stared up at Lovino, who was trying to lay down while keeping the blanket on. He looked sort of like a sausage falling over, and Antonio thought it was funny, but he kept it to himself. He didn't want to piss the Italian off. "Lovi, why are you-"

"I was cold, okay?" He curled up. "And I was kind of-" Lovino murmured the rest. Antonio scoffed. "Lovino, just say it, please. I'm tired."

"I was kind of an ass earlier, okay? Thanks for saving me." Lovino looked away, but Antonio couldn't stop smiling. "Oh? Are you . . . apologizing to me? Aw, Lovi." Antonio pulled Lovino closer. Even in the dark he could see Lovino's face glowing red. "Mi amor, mi tomate."

Lovino faced Antonio. "Tch. Your what? Your tomato? Why the hell would you call me a tomato? What kind of term of endearment is-"

"Oh, and bastard is better?" Lovino was silent. Antonio continued. "You look like a tomato when you blush so hard. I love it. It makes you look delectable like a tomato, too." Antonio pressed a kiss between Lovino's eyes. "Te amo, Lovino Vargas. You give meaning to my life."

"You're just tired, bastard. You don't know what you're saying."

"I'm quite aware of what I'm saying," Antonio said as he kissed the side of Lovino's neck. "Te amo. I love you so much." Lovino lifted his chin so Antonio could trail warm kisses up his throat. Each kiss made his heart flutter. He closed his eyes, parted his lips, and allowed the sensations his lips caused to consume him for a moment.

He opened his eyes when he felt those lips on his own. He glanced at the Spaniards closed eyes and felt stupid for having his own eyes open, so he re-closed them. Antonio's lips felt fuller than his own and slightly cooler. His tongue parted Lovino's lips and slid across his teeth, trying to gain access. Lovino gasped and pulled away. "I d-don't . . . uh . . . I've never had a kiss like that, bastard."

Antonio raised his eyebrows. "Not even with a girl?" Lovino shook his head and blushed an un-natural shade of red. Antonio, however, smiled a kind smile and said,

"I'll show you." He placed his hand on Lovino's chin. "First, you part your teeth. Not just your lips, querido. Though if you wanted to, you could, well," Antonio let out an awkward laugh, bit down on Lovino's bottom lip, and tugged at it gently. "You could do that. Or this." He sucked lightly on Lovino's bottom lip. "But you don't have to do that. It's always there though. As for the tongues, though, it is much like . . . dancing."

Lovino touched his own damp bottom lip and shivered. "Yeah? How?"

"Well, in a dance, I move my left foot forward, and my partner will move their right foot back, heeding to me. We work together, fit to each other, and that is why dancing is enjoyable. And that is why kissing is enjoyable. But I suppose this could be too technical. Kissing always came very natural to me. Move with what your body wants. Also like dancing," Antonio said with a chuckle. Lovino nodded slowly, eyebrows raised in concern.

"So, I part my lips and my teeth?" Lovino's mouth hung open far too much. Antonio smiled and pushed his jaw closed a bit more.

"Not so open, Lovi. Just like . . . there! Just like this," he said, tracing the Italian's jawline. "Now, do not pull away, please. Just . . . feel. Yes?" Lovino gulped and nodded. Antonio flashed an appreciative smile, then leaned into the smaller man again. He pressed their foreheads together carefully, shut his eyes, and gently flicked his tongue against Lovino's. He could feel the other man flinch ever so slightly. His courage increased, giving him the willpower to try to slide his tongue over Lovino's. This time, he was met with a gasp.

He pulled away. "This is an invitation, Lovino. I'd like it if you would accept it. I will not judge you for your inexperience, I promise. But move for me. Do what your body compels you to do. I'm going to try this again. Yes, querido?" Lovino nodded. He felt as if he might pass out.

Antonio slid his tongue once again into Lovino's mouth, though this time, Lovino moved with him. It was sloppy and inexperienced, but it was definitely enough to make the Spaniard feel lightheaded. He pulled away to catch his breath and smiled. "There, Lovi. You've learned how to kiss. And it was wonderful, too."

Lovino turned away, wide-eyed and red-faced. He let out a faint hiss and sat up quickly. "Uh, I think I should go back. It's actually colder over here, I think." Lovino wrapped his blanket back over his entire body and tried to stand up. Antonio sighed. "Lovi, I think it would be easier if you took off the blanket, stood, then wrapped the blanket back around your body. Or you could stay with me, querido, and let me love you."

Lovino looked over at Antonio again, an odd look in his eyes as he contemplated staying. That look was so . . . different than any other look Antonio had seen in Lovino's eyes. They were glossy, yet somehow still dull, and his eyebrows curved up slightly as if he was annoyed at something, but also disappointed.

"This isn't about you, dammit. Just let me," Lovino somehow managed to stand up with the blanket still wrapped around his body. "There. I'll see you in the morning, bastard."

"Wait, Lovi." Antonio grabbed one of Lovino's ankles. Lovino shot him a final look, one full of desperation and . . .

Antonio grinned knowingly before releasing his ankle. "Alright, Lovino. I suppose you should get back." Lovino didn't budge. He just glared.

"Why the fuck are you grinning like that, bastard?"

"I just thought you were leaving because it was too cold here. But that isn't the case. You're leaving because it is too hot here for you."

Lovino's eyes squinted. He looked like he wanted to die. That blush crept across his cheeks. "B-Bastard! Fuck off! That's not it!"

Antonio didn't smile anymore. "Lovi, let me take care of you. Please." Lovino's eye twitched as Antonio's hand wrapped around the top of his thigh. "You deserve it after everything I've put you through. And honestly, Lovi, it turns me on seeing you like this. You seem so distressed and it's wonderful."

"Uh, I think I sh-should go! I, uh, I'm . . . fuck, just-"

"Goodnight then, Lovino."

Lovino gave Antonio an appreciative look before shuffling away into the darkness somewhere. Antonio scoffed and laughed slightly to himself at how awkward Lovino was. He wished he was more open towards him, but he had all the time in the world to wait for the Italian. If not today, then soon.

Antonio tried to get in another hour or so of sleep while simultaneously, but not very effectively, ignoring the dull ache between his legs.

.

"Buenos dias, buenos dias, buenos dias, it's time to start your day! Buenos dias, buenos dias, buenos dias, ole', ole', ole'!"

"Fuck off, I'm sleeping, bastard. Don't wake me up now. Five more minutes."

Antonio flung Lovino over his shoulder. Lovino groaned. "What the fuck do you think you're doing? You b-"

Lovino was interrupted by Antonio cramming a piece of bread into his mouth. "Eat, Lovi. And don't argue." He sat Lovino on his horse, then hopped on the horse himself.

Lovino could feel them begin to move. The horse was going too fast for it being morning. And it was too bumpy. Lovino groaned again and rested his cheek on Antonio's back. "Dammit, bastard, I'm too tired for this."

"Did you eat your bread? Here, drink this." Antonio passed him back a dark green glass bottle filled with an odd purplish opaque liquid. Lovino took one gulp and choked. "What the fuck is this? It tastes like cheap, watered-down wine."

"It is. Desperate times call for desperate measures. And I know it tastes better than what they give you in those cells. So drink it and don't complain."

.

"This place looks like shit. Are you sure this is the right place?"

"Yes, Lovino. We'll be staying here for a while in the top two rooms."

"This is the worst inn I think I've ever stayed in."

Antonio held the door open for Lovino. "I know you haven't stayed in an inn before, querido. You're grumpy today, aren't you?"

Lovino looked around the lobby. There was nobody at the front, which was probably a good thing. Antonio motioned to a staircase in the corner and they crept up to the top floor.

There was a single door. Lovino give the door an excited knock before backing away impatiently.

The door opened a crack. Lovino smiled and pushed it open all the way.

Roma looked down at his grandson in shock. "Lovi! Mio Lovi! I've missed you, figlio. Ti amo." He lifted Lovino and swung him around before setting him on his feet again. Antonio pursed his lips and stood in the doorway. Roma patted Antonio's shoulder and said, "I'd try to pick you up and swing you around, Antonio, but I think you might be too big." Antonio laughed and sat down in a little chair by the door. Lovino punched his grandfather on the arm and called him an, "Idiota," for making such a stupid joke.

The three examined each other. It was at that moment that they decided they didn't want to talk about their experiences or what exactly had happened. They just wanted to forget it all.

Roma clasped his hands together, breaking the silence. "So where is Feli? You said you had it taken care of? And I don't see him. Where is my precious Feli?"

Antonio flashed a reassuring smile. "With a friend. Do not worry. He couldn't be in better hands. Specifically, he is still in Barcelona. But he is free and in hiding. They probably think he's with us, actually, so I doubt they'll search the city for him."

Roma nodded. There wasn't much more he could do than hope his youngest grandson was truly okay.

"You know what sounds good? Food. I'm going to cook some food," Lovino said, disbanding the second awkward silence. The other two nodded in agreement, and they spent the rest of the day eating plain bread that tasted better than expensive cake and drinking watery liquor that was somehow sweeter than honey.

* * *

><p><em>To Be Continued . . . <em>

* * *

><p><strong>I know what you're thinking. "The author is lazy for not writing in how the Vargas family was saved because it was improbable and such." Well that is simply not true. I know exactly how Lovino was saved and exactly how Roma was saved. I also know why Antonio doesn't want to talk about it. But it would have taken so much space in my story to tell how they were saved and I really didn't want that to be a focal point in this story. I thought it might take over a chapter to write, and that would be ridiculous, especially considering events that are soon to happen that I will have to dedicate time and story space to.<strong>

**So I left it out. If you're curious, you can ask about it.**


	14. Chapter 14

**So if you guys have questions, ask them and all of the questions will be answered in the very last chapter. Thank you!**

* * *

><p>"There, you look much better, figlio. Your hair was getting too long," Grandpa Roma said. Lovino looked at the thin pieces of hair around his feet with a sigh.<p>

"Thank you," he said as the door slammed shut. It was Antonio from the sound of the boots. Lovino peeked out at the spaniard, who was setting a bag of supplies on the wobbly table next to the door and shrugging off the cloak he had to wear when he left the third floor of the inn.

"Roma, Lovino, look." Antonio pulled a folded sheet of paper out of the bag and handed it to Roma. Roma opened it and scanned the Spanish words and black and white badly drawn images.

Wanted in Barcelona for heresy:

Roma Vargas

Lovino Vargas

Antonio F. Carriedo

A reward will be given for their capture

Lovino looked over the paper next. He was in no way surprised by this. "What do you expect me to say, bas-Antonio? I knew this would happen."

Antonio took the paper back and shoved it into the bag again. "We need to be careful. We don't know how far any of this goes." Grandpa Roma crossed his arms and leaned against the table. "Yeah, but what I don't understand is how quickly they put these out, Antonio."

Antonio sat down and took his hat off. "You don't know how serious these guys are. Besides that, it's been three days. That's plenty of time for them." Lovino bit his lip and closed the curtains. "Okay, bastard, what do you think we should-"

"Did you just call him bastard, Lovi?" Grandpa Roma slapped Lovino on the back of the head. "Alzai meglio di cosi. E piu in forma in su. Scusarsi." Lovino rubbed the back of his head and pouted. "But Grandpa R-"

"Really, sir, I don't mind. It's sort of funny to me, honestly," Antonio said. He was nearly laughing from watching Roma hit Lovino. He knew he shouldn't have thought it was so funny, but it just was.

"Is that a pet name?"

Antonio turned white. "Uh, I, uh . . . "

Lovino groaned inwardly and rubbed his temples. "It's just a thing, Grandpa Roma. Please just-"

"I used to call your grandmother Noochi, you know. She hated me for it, God bless her. May she rest in peace."

"Grandpa please stop." Antonio threw his head back and laughed at Lovino's pleas.

"No, Roma, tell me more about your wife. I'm curious," Antonio said with a grin. Lovino groaned.

Grandpa Roma pulled a stool from the wall and sat down comfortably with a tall bottle of wine in tow. "This may take a while. I'll tell you how we met, first. She was gorgeous, let me tell you. She had this pale skin, you know, and dark curly hair, and . . ."

.

By the time Grandpa Roma was done talking about his wife, they were all drunk and laughing. "Ah, it's getting late." Hiccup. "'Tonio, you can sleep on the, uh, the whats it called in there. Yeah. Lovino will sleep in . . . " Hiccup. "There. And I'll be passed out in here. Ti amo, Lovino. And you're a . . . " Hiccup. "Great man, Antonio. God bless you." Roma stumbled off to his room, almost falling a few times before the door finally slammed behind him.

"Ti amo, Grandpa Roma!" Lovino turned to Antonio with a goofy smile spread across his lips. "And ti amo, bastardo, you beautiful idiota."

Antonio laughed. "You're drunk, Lovi. You're very, very drunk."

Lovino mocked Antonio. "You're drunk, too, Tonio. Veryyyy VERY drunk." Lovino let out a quiet chuckle and began the slow walk to his room. He stood in the doorway for a good minute before turning around to look at Antonio, who looked like he was going to pass out at any moment. Lovino sneered and called out to him.

"Hey you sleepy sonofabitch." Lovino unbuttoned the first few buttons on his shirt and pulled it down, exposing his shoulder. Antonio opened his eyes and stared at Lovino with a curious look on his face. Lovino kicked his boots off and clumsily slid his pants down. "Antoniooooo!" He fell onto his knees in a pathetic attempt to reach Antonio with his pants around his ankles. Antonio stifled a laugh. "Do you need help, querido?"

Lovino kicked off his pants finally. He tried to pull his socks off without using his hands, but that wasn't working, so he sat up and pulled them off. "Lovi, what are you doing?"

Lovino laughed lightly and gave Antonio a sloppy wink. "Ti amo, Antonio. You're so amazing and . . . " hiccup. " . . . and I want you to sleep in my bed tonight. It isn't comfortable in here."

Antonio blushed and lifted Lovino up. "Alright. Come on, mi amor." Antonio shut and locked the door as soon as he laid Lovino down on his bed. He couldn't help but notice how fantastic his legs looked. And his shoulders. And his . . . well, everything.

Antonio gulped and faced the door as he began to undress. He took his jacket off and unbuttoned his shirt. Lovino wasn't making any noises. Antonio figured he was out already. He took off his pants and finally slid his shirt off of his shoulders. When he turned around, Lovino was watching him with wide, glossy eyes. The Italian pressed his legs together and bit his lip.

Antonio raised one eyebrow. "Is there something wrong, Lovi?" Lovino quickly shook his head and crawled under the covers. Antonio grinned and slid under the covers next to Lovino, who was bright red. "Are you sure there isn't anything wrong?" Lovino nodded.

"Lovino, you're lying. Look at me, please."

Lovino turned to lay on his side. "Nothing is wrong, bastard. Everything is fine." Antonio smiled and nodded. "You're such a liar, mi querido." He sat up and swung his leg over the Italian, straddling him. Lovino's eyes widened even further and a sqeak of surprise escaped his throat. "Bastard?"

"Hm?" Antonio gave Lovino soft kisses while he waited to hear whatever the Italian was going to say to him. Lovino was only silent, though.

Soft kisses turned into passionate ones. But Antonio didn't want to spend long kissing, as bad as he felt about that. There were much better things to do than kiss, which he mentioned to Lovino who responded with a quizzical look.

"I've never done any of this before, Antonio. What are we supposed to do? Have you done this before?"

Antonio shrugged. "I've been with a woman once. But I'm sure this can't be that difficult. You might be overthinking things." Lovino nodded, but it wasn't very confident, Antonio noted.

"Antonio, do you want to?"

"I'm afraid that was a little too vague, Lovi."

"Do you want to make love?"

Antonio ran his fingers through Lovino's hair softly. "Yes, Lovi. Of course. Do you want to? We don't have to if you don't want to."

"No, I m-mean . . . I do. Honestly I'm nervous. What if I'm bad?"

Antonio chuckled. "I don't think you will be. But if you are, you can improve. Yes? And I'll be gentle. I won't lie to you, Lovino. I'm sure it will hurt at first. But I'll do everything I can to make you feel good. Do you trust me?"

Lovino nodded. "Yeah. Yes, I mean. I trust you. Antonio?"

Antonio began unbuttoning Lovino's shirt. "Yes, querido?"

"I really do love you. I mean it," he said, kissing Antonio's hand gently. Antonio smiled and pressed his nose to Lovino's. He gave him a quick peck on the lips.

"I love you too, Lovi."

.

"Antonio, what do I . . . " Lovino glanced down at the white spattered across his stomach. He grabbed his shirt to wipe himself off with, but Antonio stopped him and climbed out of bed. He slid some pants on and went out of the room for a second. Lovino peeked out at him. "Antonio? B-Bastard?"

"Hold on, Lovi."

He came back with a bowl of water and a rag. Lovino watched as he pushed the rag into the water, lifted it, and squeezed out the access. The sound of the water dripping back into the bowl relaxed him. "I'm so tired, 'Tonio."

"I know you are." Antonio sat on the bed and folded the blanket down to Lovino's thighs. "This is going to be cold," he warned. Lovino flinched when Antonio wiped half of his stomach off.

"Shit. That water is freezing."

Antonio chuckled. "I know." He wiped the rest off of his stomach and wiped away the white streaks dripping down his thighs. He tossed the rag back into the water and got back in bed. The air was almost as cold as the water and his skin was prickled with goosebumps. "Do you feel a little better?"

"I never felt bad," Lovino said, smiling. He rested his head on Antonio's chest. Antonio kissed Lovino's palm and sighed. "That's good, mi amor. It's getting late. You should sleep."

"Tell me a story."

Antonio laughed. "Really? Alright. Lets see. Uh . . . okay. Once, not too long ago, actually, there lived a . . . "

Lovino shut his eyes and fell asleep with the gentle sound Antonio's voice ringing in his ears.

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><p><em>To Be Continued . . . <em>


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